


New Developments

by thewildreader



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BestFriends!Albus and Rose, Canon Divergent, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Hate Sex, Hidden Relationship, I had to make OCs because we have literally no canon next-gen Slytherin characters, Minor Ron Weasley Bashing, NextGen!Harry Potter Fic, Not Canon Compliant, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Oral Sex, Pleasure and Punishment Dynamics, Plot What Plot, Possessiveness, References to Post-Trauma Reactions, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn Romance, TW Attempted Rape, light orgasm denial, scorose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildreader/pseuds/thewildreader
Summary: She barely reached his shoulder. Admittedly, she hadn’t been the prettiest girl when they were children, but no honest wizard could call Rose Weasley ugly now. Good thing that Scorpius was a liar.“Shove off,” she hissed and spun away from him. She didn’t look back and he watched her go, smirk pulling at his mouth.Marcus Carrow put a hand on his shoulder from behind. Scorpius didn’t so much as flinch. “What a spitfire,” Carrow said. “Imagine that in the sack, huh?” It was like the bloke had made it his year’s mission to get under Scorpius’s skin. He shrugged his hand off easily.“You’re welcome to,” he replied coolly, “but I personally don’t consort with weasels.”*I UPDATE WEEKLY AND/OR BIWEEKLY DON'T LISTEN TO AO3*





	1. Chapter 1

In third year, Malfoy lit the hem of Rose Weasley’s robes on fire, and in fourth year she had awoken to a bed full of…weasels. He thought himself very clever, but Rose found it unoriginal and uncomfortable. Happily, she watched as Headmistress McGonagall assigned him two weeks of detention.

But that hadn’t stopped his most recent antagonism in fifth year, however, when he stole every pair of her panties, and then delivered them back to her by owl in the middle of the Great Hall at breakfast—unwrapped, just all of her good knickers clutched between the owl’s talons; a mortifying ordeal.

Malfoy had thought it hilarious.

That wasn’t to say that she hadn’t contributed plenty to their dues over the years. In third year, Transfigured all of his robes Gryffindor red, but only after his flaming robes stunt. Not as dangerous but much more humiliating. It took him quite a while to gain the focus needed to Transfigure them back to their normal shade.

Fourth year was a bad year for Scorpius Malfoy.

It was not that he didn’t know what Ton-Tongue Taffies were, it was that he simply never thought he would be on the receiving end of any of them. The arrogant prat. But he wasn’t a pig; a body shaped by years of Quidditch practices was proof of that. Malfoy just liked his sweets, which Rose knew and had no trouble taking advantage of. To this day, she felt no shame. She’d heard that he ate three of them before his mate pointed out what they were. Then he stormed up to the Headmistress’s office, dragging his tongue behind him. Rose had fun taunting him about what the floor tasted like for weeks.

Fifth year was a slower year, but the wait was worth it.

She could have been lame and swiped his boxers and briefs to deliver them back to him publicly, but Rose had never been a copycat. It was much more satisfying to use a basic cooling charm on him. Or more specifically:

On his prick.

It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable, and it was enough to make him wiggle and squirm and finally, hop up out of his seat and yelp. Rose reveled in it. The thing was though, that as while Rose was not the only student with her wand out, she was the only one that was clearing performing the cooling charm. She didn’t get as much detention as Malfoy had for the weasels trick, but she did get a week of cleaning floors and trophies and plaques. He’d demanded to go to the hospital wing, and though he really didn’t need to, Professor Longbottom let him, throwing a strict look at Rose.

Even that and detention did nothing to curb Rose’s satisfaction.  

She chuckled and Albus looked up from the book he was reading: _The Magician’s Nephew_. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “Cause I know it’s not that Potions book.”  

Rose sat on the bench facing the lake, her cousin beside her. The sun shone down on the lake, the deep blue of water sparkling like diamonds. A fresh breeze blew through her flame red hair. She could see the mountains in the distance, she could smell the green grass of the grounds. It was peaceful, here with her cousin beneath a tree that kindly shaded them from the worst of the sun.

She herself was reading her sixth year Potions textbook; it was the middle of the first week of classes and she completely neglected to read it over the summer. Instead it had sat for months beneath her bed where stuffed it. It was certainly not the most interesting of reads, but it was necessary if she wanted to stay at the head of her class, and most importantly, ahead of Scorpius Malfoy, who was second in her class.

Just the thought of him curdled her stomach and soured her mood. He never failed to frustrate her in one way or another.

“Just reliving a few memories,” Rose replied primly.  

So, maybe messing with Scorpius Malfoy was fun, but only because he so desperately deserved it. He was arrogant and insulting, and worst of all, easy on the eyes.

Rose could not deny that he was attractive. She denied it to him, of course, but to herself, guarded by the privacy of her own thoughts, she saw no point in lying. So around fourth year, when Scorpius Malfoy shot up in height and his chest filled out his shirts in a much different way than before, Rose allowed herself to acknowledge that Malfoy was hot. From a safe distance, because around that time, other girls started noticing it, too. And from about fifth year on, Rose was pretty sure that Malfoy found female company for his bed at least every other night.

Or so he claimed.

The thing that always saddened Rose was that she was not someone who could tolerate such repulsive personalities. If she had a different outlook on things, she thought, then maybe she could have experienced what so many other witches whispered about. Her brother, Hugo, joked in the past that all the hate between her and Malfoy was really just bottled-up sexual tension, but just the thought of touching Malfoy made Rose ill.

She thought that perhaps the simplest way to phrase their biggest problem was that Rose deeply disliked jackasses, and Scorpius Malfoy was quite the jackass.                  

⚯͛

Scorpius Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his socks. This early in the morning, it felt like a lot of work. Marcus Carrow opened his curtains in the bed next to Scorpius’s. “Good morning!”

Scorpius hated him because he was too tall, because he was the epitome of a cultured, snobby Slytherin at heart, and mostly he hated him because he was a buggering _morning person_. Scorpius wanted to hex him every time he looked over in the early morning light and had to see his smiling, insolent face.

“Good morning,” he growled.

Marcus was already drinking. He held out a silver flask of firewhiskey to Scorpius. “You want?” His eyes glinted, his midnight hair ruffled from sleep.

“No thanks,” Scorpius said. He waved his hand dismissively.

“Pussy,” Carrow said. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a long draw from his flask.

Next to Carrow was Lorcan Scamander. Scorpius thought he was a fine bloke, but preferred his twin, Lysander. Lysander was all of the good in Marcus; they were close chums. Lysander was clever where Marcus was scheming, intelligent where his friend was arrogant, reserved as opposed to aloof. Lorcan, compared to both of them, was just an eerily-quiet pushover.

Scorpius slipped on his shoes. Marcus shed his pajama pants and pulled on a pair of proper slacks. They were perfectly pressed. Scorpius smoothed his own gray trousers. _Bastard,_ he thought. Carrow never seemed to notice his subtle animosity. Even that chewed on Scorpius’s already-frayed nerves. The man couldn’t fathom that someone wouldn’t like him.

“You’re gonna be late,” Lysander told Marcus, fully-dressed and on his way to wake up his brother, who was still snoring next to Marcus.

“Worry about your doppelgänger,” Carrow said.

Lysander wrinkled his nose at him and Marcus chuckled. He was still drinking. His tolerance impressed even Scorpius.

Girls liked Marcus Carrow. Scorpius, though not the sort of guys who fancied other guys, even noticed. Sitting half-up, hair mussed and shirtless with that flask in his hand, Carrow was devilishly handsome. _Fuck you,_ he thought at him. Marcus, oblivious, raised the liquor to his mouth for another swig, then launched himself out of his tangled bed covers.

“I’m starving,” he announced.

“Are you?” asked Scorpius drily.

Marcus patted him on the knee as he passed. “Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Scorpius shoved his hand away. “I’m in a fine mood, thank you for asking, Marcus.”

“Woke up too lonely is more like it,” Lysander called from the foot of his brother’s bed. He was trying to pull Lorcan out by his feet. He did this often.

“You need to find yourself a solid broad again,” Carrow agreed. “Maybe that pretty Macmillian girl.”

“No, no,” Lysander said, wagging one finger. “Malfoy likes redheads.” He grinned.

“Oh, bugger off,” Scorpius said, but Lysander had already lit off the idea in his best mate’s head.  

“Mmm,” Marcus hummed and Scorpius groaned. “What _about_ the She-Weasel? I bet she’d be _wild_ in the sack. So much fire in that little, curvy body.” He stuck his tongue out lewdly, licked his lips.

“You’re disgusting. Weasley’s repulsive.” Personality-wise, at least. He admitted that her body might not be so repellant. Her body, actually, might be just as delectable as Carrow implied it was.

“Well, if you’re not gonna hit that, then maybe I will,” the other wizard said.

“If you can put up with that running mouth,” Lysander said. He was passing clothes to a bleary-eyed Lorcan.

“I bet I could think of ways to shut her up.” He rolled his hips suggestively.

“Ugh,” Scorpius said. He stood up, hands braced on his knees. “You’re making me nauseated.”

“You say that now, but you’ll be jealous when I’m finished with her,” Marcus said. “I’ll be sure to let you know how she is.”

Lysander said, “You’re so full of shit, Carrow.” The man in question shrugged, smirking.

Lorcan lumbered around his bed, retrieving socks and his shoes. Scorpius grabbed his schoolbag from where he’d left it the night before when he was working on his homework. He’d hardly gotten any sleep at all. Lorcan was picking up crumpled papers from where he’d slept on them. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. Scorpius felt his pain.

“I’m going to breakfast,” he told them all. “Join me when you’re dressed, I suppose.”

“Will do,” Lysander said, and nodded politely. Carrow just gyrated his hips at him again. Poor Lorcan was too preoccupied to reply. Then again, he always seemed preoccupied by something. Preoccupation was a part of Lorcan Scamander’s personality at this point.

All Scorpius could think about at breakfast was Rose Weasley. From his seat at the Slytherin table, he could see her perfectly. She sat facing him at the Gryffindor table. Well, not at _him_ : at her cousin, Albus Potter, sitting across from her.

But Scorpius could still see her pretty, rosy cheeks, her parted heart-shaped lips. Her elbows were on the table, thrusting her breasts forward. She made his mouth water. _So much fire_ , Carrow had said. _In that curvy little body_. And damn him, now Scorpius couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d be soft in his hands, tiny like his mother’s china dolls. Her hair would spread out over his dark pillows like tongues of flame.

He shifted himself in his trousers before things got uncomfortable. Rose was talking in earnest to Albus now, her mouth moving fast. To himself, Scorpius rolled his eyes; if she’d been talking to him, all there would be to be heard was that incessant stream of name-calling. Maybe he wouldn’t have minded, if she threw in an, _oh, Scorpius, it feels so good!_ or _wow, you’re like a god!_

He chuckled.

“Are you looking at what I’m looking at?” Carrow asked, sliding onto the bench beside him.

_I could do it. I could just do it._ Scorpius eyes the fork in his hand. _It would be so easy._ Then he put the fork down, because if Father found out he’d stabbed a Carrow, he would have scooped both his eyeballs out with a spoon.

“Not sure what you mean,” he said cooly.

“You want a hint? It’s white, and red, and would look _fabulous_ in my bed,” Marcus told him. He seemed to have realized he’d stumbled across a way under Scorpius’s skin.

Scorpius looked back at Rose then glanced away. Marcus didn’t. He leered at the girl through the whole meal, killing Scorpius’s appetite. Lorcan ate silently and Lysander only fed into Carrow’s antagonism. Scorpius heard things he’d never wanted to hear them say about Rose Weasley. (But definitely heard some great suggestions about things he might like to _do_ to Rose Weasley.) Frustration built in his chest...and other places.

“—would look great wrapped around your hand while you—”

Scorpius stood up abruptly. Everyone looked up at him. “I’m going to the lavatory,” he said. Six pairs of eyes stared at him: All of the blokes at his end of the Slytherin table.

“Oops,” Marcus said. “Guess we hit a nerve.”

“It’s not a nerve,” Scorpius said. “You’re turning my stomach while I’m trying to eat my breakfast.”

At the next table over, Rose Weasley looked up, too. His gaze slid over to her without permission. His eyes met hers effortlessly and she sneered. His erection disappeared. A sneer didn’t flatter her delicate features or her pretty mouth. This time it was Lysander and Marcus who caught his eye. They were looking at him knowingly. Scorpius made a “gah” sound in their direction. They were looking at him like they’d really found a sore spot, and so he sat back down. He was a Malfoy, and Father would be just as disappointed if he found out Scorpius was showing even phantom weakness as he would be if he learned that his only son and heir had stabbed a Carrow.

Scorpius sighed.

⚯͛             

Rose sat in the Gryffindor Common Room with a book open on her lap. She’d changed out of her school robes and into a more comfortable set of pajamas and fluffy socks. Her mother excelled at Potions during her time at Hogwarts, but Rose found the subject detestable. It was always her lowest grade. So she studied extra hard at it, hoping that one day, her enjoyment would click into place. Her younger brother, Hugo, sat across from her, reading through _Hogwarts: A History_. Rose read it years ago.

“How goes it?” he asked from his armchair.

The fire crackled comfortingly in the fireplace, illuminating the room. A painting above Rose blinked his eyes lazily, as if the fire was putting him to sleep. Rose understood. The blanket laid over her legs was luxurious and soft. She rubbed her palm over it absentmindedly. She shrugged. “Miserable,” she said. “This year is going to kick my arse.”

“Psaw,” Hugo said. He didn’t look up from _Hogwarts: A History_ as he spoke. “You’ll do great; you always do, Rosie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

The Gryffindor Common Room was Rose’s happy place. She loved her bedroom at her mother and father’s house, but Hogwarts was Rose’s true home. She waited anxiously to return every time that she left. Now that she was back, a weight felt lifted from her shoulders. From the peaceful expression on Hugo’s face, she knew that he felt the same. She rubbed her socked feet together and sighed. Despite the stress of Potions, she relaxed back into the loveseat. Her eyes slipped closed, but just then, Roxanne and Lucy burst through the door.  

Roxanne was Uncle Bill and Aunt Angelina’s daughter. Her hair was dark and coiled, her skin the color of chocolate. She was a head taller than Lucy, who was a year younger and red-headed like her father, Percy. Rose had never seen much of her uncle Percy, except during the holidays. She got the feeling that her own father wasn’t too fond of him. She saw even less of Audrey, Lucy’s mother.

The girls giggled and pushed against one another. Hugo glanced up. “What’s going on?” he asked. Rose waited for the answer as well.

Roxanne snickered. “Albus has got his panties in a twist over something Malfoy’s done. You should have seen him. I thought his head was going to pop off of his neck!” Molly grinned and Hugo chuckled. Rose frowned.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were encouraging Malfoy,” she commented mildly.

Lucy frowned back. “Don’t be silly, Rosie,” she said. “He’s still the same tosser he’s always been.” Roxanne nodded along. Rose wondered if she should go check on her cousin.

“He is so handsome, though,” Roxanne said.

“Albus?” Hugo asked suspiciously.

Roxanne wrinkled her nose. “No! _Malfoy_ obviously, Godric.” She sniffed and looked at Hugo as if he’d said something particularly distasteful. “Albus is our cousin.”

“ _I_ know that,” Rose’s brother said.

Rose scoffed. “Malfoy? It would have been better if you were talking about Al. Malfoy’s about as attractive as a bald ferret.” Lucy sat down on a leather couch beside the loveseat, Roxanne following closely after her.

“Oh please,” the girl said. “Get off your high horse. You’ve seen him. We’ve all heard what they say about him.”

Rose stood up, leaving the blanket behind. “If you say so.” She wasn’t about to get into a fight with her cousins over Scorpius Malfoy’s sexual reputation. “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I think I’ll be heading to bed now.” Her feet sank into the Common Room’s thick carpet. She still hadn’t finished that blasted Potions book.

Though she’d mostly wanted to escape her cousins, she really was tired. Her first day had exhausted her. Her bed was right beside Roxanne’s, a heavy canopy hanging over it. It was already made, probably by house elves. She turned the covers down and pulled off her socks before climbing in. Rose laid her head down on the pillow; it was dense and supported her perfectly. Before she knew it, her eyes fell shut and she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up!

Scorpius ran into Rose Weasley on the way to breakfast in the Great Hall. Literally. He rounded a corner and slammed straight into her small body, knocking her bag from her shoulder. “Dammit!” He threw himself backwards and she jerked her face up, evidently to see who had run into her. When she saw him, her lip curled. Two days in to sixth year and he was really starting to hate breakfasts.

“ _Malfoy_ ,” she spat.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he said mildly. “You’re making your face even worse, Weasel.”

With teeth bared, she bent down to snatch up her bag from the ground. Her fiery hair curled wildly around her face, disheveled now. Her round cheeks were red with anger. She was so short that he could hardly take her seriously. She barely reached his shoulder. Admittedly, she hadn’t been the prettiest girl when they were children, but no honest wizard could call Rose Weasley ugly now. Good thing that Scorpius was a liar.

“Shove off,” she hissed and spun away from him. She didn’t look back and he watched her go, smirk pulling at his mouth.

Marcus Carrow put a hand on his shoulder from behind. Scorpius didn’t so much as flinch. “What a spitfire,” Carrow said. “Imagine that in the sack, huh?” It was like the bloke had made it his year’s mission to get under Scorpius’s skin. He shrugged his hand off easily.

“You’re welcome to,” he replied coolly, “but I personally don’t consort with weasels.”

When he reached the Great Hall, he sat down beside Zabini, who was tucking into a plate of sausage and fried eggs. Scorpius reaches forward and loaded his own plate with sausage, cantaloupe, and flatcakes. He drizzled maple syrup over all of it and Zabini glanced over at him. “Maple syrup on fruit?” he asked. “That’s messed up, mate.” Scorpius popped a chunk in his mouth for emphasis.

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

Across the room at the Gryffindor table, Albus Potter sat down next to Weasley. He hugged her with one arm and then pulled his plate towards himself. Even though he was Slytherin, he almost never sat at their table. He acted so much like a Gryffindor that Scorpius wondered why the Sorting Hat even bothered to put him in Salazar’s house. There was a rumor that his famous father, Harry Potter, had been destined for Slytherin instead of Gryffindor; he thought that probably had something to do with it.

Last night had not been a good night for Potter and as usual, it was Scorpius’s fault. While Potter showered, Scorpius moved his trunk over from the bed he’d claimed and into the next sector of the boy’s dorm. Scorpius then slid his own trunk to the end of that bed and flopped down on it. “Fucking Malfoy,” Potter fumed when he returned. “That’s _my_ bed.”

“Mine now,” Scorpius said simply.

Potter clenched his fists at his sides. “You don’t own everyone, you know,” he said. “You can act like you do, but you don’t.”

“I might as well.”

Zabini and Carrow laughed as Potter stalked out of the Common Room, likely to go whine to his cousins. Though maybe he hadn’t, because the She-Weasel hadn’t mentioned it to him this morning when they ran into one another. _Curious._ Potter didn’t seem bothered now. He laughed and smiled at Weasley like she’d told a joke. Scorpius turned away and raised his fork to his lips.

“Gross,” Zabini muttered under his breath.

⚯͛

Seeing Albus at breakfast helped to improve her mood, but she was still seething when she entered the Transfiguration classroom. She waited until the professor started talking

Rose pressed her wand to the tabletop, aimed in Malfoy’s direction, and focused all her energy on the image of a snake. She didn’t need to focus on similarities and differences and the transformation really; she understood it from nearly six years of practicing it. Malfoy, who listened intently to the professor, or at least tried to, didn’t notice as his quill morphed into a small, green snake.

It bit him hard on the thumb.

He let out a yell, dropping the snake, and swiveling around to look for a waving wand. It was Rose’s luck that his eyes met hers right off. It didn’t taken him long to drop his gaze to the wand in her hand on the desk in front of her. Students around the classroom laughed.

“Weasley!” he shouted, whipping his wand out of his robes. There was a motion from the front of the classroom, which was filled with laughing students, and Malfoy’s wand was flicked from his hand.

“Now that’s enough, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Weasley,” Professor Shacklebolt said briskly, looking them over and taking in the scene.

Now that Rose’s mother had taken over the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had stepped up to take the open Transfiguration position at Hogwarts. Rose wished often that she’d been born earlier, before the Second Wizarding War, so that she could have learned under Headmistress McGonagall.

“What a waste that was,” Malfoy said, his bloody thumb pressed to his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Rose said, smiling sweetly. “I’m just getting started.”

“You are both assigned two weeks of detention, which you will report to tonight at seven, in my office,” Professor Shacklebolt was saying. Malfoy leveled a murderous glare at her.

Her smile fell. Malfoy turned quickly to meet the professor’s eyes.

“Professor—”

“No protests!” he insisted, holding up a graceful hand. “No interruptions, no disturbances, especially from you two.” His look was stern. “You should be ashamed, the both of you.”

Rose bowed her head, but it was more to hide her persisting smile. Scorpius had not stopped glaring at her, but he too dropped his head in a way that would have been sheepish, had it not been Scorpius Malfoy.

“Now, you may sit down, or you may leave my classroom and pay a visit to the Headmistress.”

Malfoy lowered himself into his seat, tucking his wand away in the inside pocket of his robes.

⚯͛

At seven that night, Rose slammed her Potions book shut and snatched her wand from the table in front of her. Her cousin, Lily Luna, lifted her head. She was two years younger than Rose and “Detention?” she asked.

Rose blew out a breath. “Yep.”

“Well, have fun,” Lily said with a cheeky smile.

“I’ll have loads, I’m sure,” Rose told her dryly.

“You did it to yourself,” her cousin replied. “If you don’t want detention, stop hexing Malfoy.”

“I didn’t hex him!” Rose exclaimed in exasperation. “It was a harmless little snake, for Merlin’s sake.”

Lily tsked.

“You’d better get a move on, Rosie,” she advised. “You don’t want to be late to detention.”

Rose sighed heavily and stowed her wand in her robes before striding to the Common Room door. The Fat Lady peered at her as she walked out.

“Where are you going at this time, Miss Weasley?” she inquired.

“To detention,” Rose said coldly. At this point, the little snake didn’t seem worth it at all.

The halls were quiet; not many other students came out at this time. There was a Slytherin couple making out in a concave in the hallway. Rose didn’t comment as she walked past. When she reached the office, she was disappointed to see that Malfoy beat her there. He gave her a sarcastic grin as she sat down in the chair to the left of him. Professor Shacklebolt sat down across from them both behind his wide desk.

“Tonight, we’ll need you to clean the Great Hall,” he told them.

“Don’t the house elves do that?” Scorpius asked, bored.

“Peeves has made a mess.”

Rose groaned. If it was one of Peeves’s messes, she wouldn’t be surprised if the Great Hall all night to clean. Malfoy wasn’t giving up his point either.

“Isn’t that Filch’s job?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Shacklebolt said pointedly. “Do you have a problem with the task that you’ve been assigned?”

“I’ve a problem with being here at all,” Malfoy grumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before pulling your wand on Miss Weasley.”

Malfoy snorted.

“You are to do this manually,” Shacklebolt added. “Your wands may be used to conjure and banish tools, and that is all. Is that clear?”

They both nodded.

The professor dismissed them, and they walked together to the Great Hall. “Well, you’re off your game tonight,” Rose said, amused.    

He jerked his head to look down at her. “Leave it be, Weasley.”

“I’m used to you being a prat to me, but talking back to Shacklebolt?” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Not your best move, Malfoy.”   

He looked away from her and pushed the doors to the Hall open. “Sod off, would you?” he demanded. Rose huffed. His eyes were shadowed, his shoulders more hunched than usual. Malfoy looked as worn out as Rose felt.

“No need to get twisted up about it,” she said.

Malfoy didn’t bother to hold the doors for Rose. She wrenched them back apart and stormed into the Great Hall to assess the mess. Even Malfoy was taken aback by it.

Dishes lay shattered on the floor, food strewn over them, and something that looked like mashed potatoes and grape juice splattered the walls. Luckily, the drapes and tapestries remained unstained, though many of them would need to be rehung. Peeves had clearly ripped them down. She heaved a sigh of relief. Upon first glance it looked alarming, but overall, it was certainly not as bad as it could have been.

Malfoy was in the middle of conjuring a mop and mop basket by the time she looked over at him. “Don’t forget wash rags and a bucket,” she told him, striding over. “And we’ll need a ladder to hang those tapestries back up.”

“How about you do it yourself?”

“How about you quit being such a tosser?” she retorted.

“Oh, Weasley, how you wound me.” He leaned back with a hand on his heart and a pained expression on his face. His silver eyes glinted.

“It would be a cute act,” Rose said, “if you had a heart to wound.”

Malfoy bent over the mop bucket, his pale hair falling over his forehead, and dipped a freshly-conjured washcloth into the soapy water. She turned to walk away, intent on picking up the plates from the floor, when she felt something wet and stinging hit her arse. She yelped, swinging around to see Scorpius Malfoy laughing and holding a wet cloth.

“You-you-y—” she stammered indignantly.

“I-I-I, what?” he asked, still chuckling. “Spit it out, Weasel.” Rose pulled her robes around to the front, examining the wet splotch on the back. He grinned wider.

“You’re despicable!”

“And you’re a prissy hag,” he returned easily.

She began pulling off her robes so as not to dirty them anymore. “What are you doing?” Malfoy asked. He sounded annoyed.

“Removing my robes before you ruin them,” she replied.    

Rose tossed her robes towards the cleaning supplies, leaving them in a pile, then looked at him. His eyes ran up and down her body, lingering at her breasts and hips. _Sick!_

But her skin tingled nonetheless.

“My eyes are up here,” Rose said sweetly.

“If only your eyes were as entertaining as the rest of you.”

She snapped, “Keep it in your pants, Malfoy.”

“Everybody knows you’d like it better out of my pants,” he said, raising one eyebrow.

“In your wildest dreams.”

“More like my most debilitating nightmares,” Malfoy countered.  

“Those must be some pretty hot nightmares,” she said.

“All that means is that I’m not a prude,” Malfoy said meaningfully.

“I know that’s not an insinuation that _I_ am.” Rose was hardly a prude.

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy asked. “And what if it is?”

“I’m not a prude,” Rose scoffed. Her cheeks were red, illuminating the freckles atop her milky skin. She tried to keep the heat down but it crept up her neck anyways.

“You’ve given it up already then, have you, Weasley?” he asked— _pointedly_ —and dropped the cloth into the bucket before moving closer.

“I don’t have to tell you that,” she said, setting her robes on the edge of a table.

“Right. Then I’ll just assume that you haven’t.”

“Then you’d be wrong,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “You spineless ferret,” she added.

Not that she’d really enjoyed it. She’d only had sex twice, and her first time was when she was in fifth year and it had been at a party with a seventh year. He wasn’t the sort that cared about pleasing anyone but himself. The second time had been with her boyfriend last year, and had been slightly better, but she still hadn’t climaxed.

Malfoy stood uncomfortably close to her, hand still dripping soapy water from when he’d relinquished his cleaning cloth. He looked straight down his nose at her. It made her nervous. His steely eyes were hot with a challenge. “How many times have you done it?” he asked.

Rose threw up her hands in exasperation and stepped away from him. “ _Done it?_ ” she asked. “Are we still in first year?”

He stepped even closer to her, so that they were practically nose to nose. She swallowed. “How would you like me to phrase it, Weasley? Maybe like this: how many times have you been fucked?” She could smell his cologne. “Huh?”

“How many times have _you_ done it?” Rose shot back, unsure what else to say. She wasn’t going to admit anything to him.

“You really wanna know?”

Did she?

“Did I stutter?” she spat. She stared up at him defiantly.

“Let’s see,”  he said, counting on his fingers. “Three times in fifth year, ten in sixth year, twice so far this year…” He paused. “Wait, do blowjobs and handjobs count?” Rose huffed and Malfoy laughed. “Cause if they do, then that’s a bit uncountable, so…”

Rose applauded slowly. “And you are incredible, Malfoy, just incredible.” Disdain laced her tone. Malfoy shrugged.

“Don’t I know it,” he said with a smirk. “Now what about you, Weasley?”

She said nothing as his grin grew. _He doesn’t deserve anything from me._

“That’s what I thought,” he drawled.

“Shouldn’t you be working, anyway?” she demanded, finally turning away from him. Her cheeks were warm from his nearness.

“We’re supposed to be,” he said easily. “But look at this mess.”

He swept an arm around at the giant room, four glossy wooden tables running up and down the center and the mess scattered over the wide floor. “Can’t we just clean it with magic? Shacklebolt would never know.”

“No way,” she said. “We’re already in trouble, Malfoy.”

“Goody-two-shoes,” Malfoy said.

“Oh, shut your trap, you arse.”

She gritted her teeth and focused intently on cleaning Peeves’s mess; she couldn’t spend another second looking at him. He did the same. Rose picked up plates and dishes as Malfoy worked from the other end, doing the same as he cleaned the food from the floor. Finally, cleaning her rags with her wand, she turned to the walls, hoping to be ahead of Malfoy so that none of their jobs overlapped. Sadly, she’d cleaned maybe a yard of the wall before she had to call him over herself.

“Malfoy!” she shouted.

“Huh?” he answered.

“I can’t reach this.” She pointed to a swipe of grape juice a foot above her.

“What?” he asked, leering. “You want to give you a boost?”

“I want you to get your arse over here and clean it yourself,” she said, her patience running dangerously thin.

He dropped the mop that he was using on the floor where she had picked up her dishes; he’d be working on the wall in a minute or two anyway. Stalking over, he took her rag from her, leaning over her and scrubbing away the stain with hardly any effort at all. He was easily a foot taller than her and it infuriated her to no end. She didn’t bother thanking him as he handed her her rag back, and he noticed.

“That’s all the gratitude I get?” he asked.

“You’re not getting _any_ ,” she said harshly.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I believe I’ve just helped you, Weasel; it’s polite to thank the people that help you. But perhaps manners aren’t in your breeding.”

She didn’t rise to the bait. “You didn’t help me,” she told him. “You did a job that was assigned to you previously.”

“Stubborn wench,” he said.

Rose waved her hand dismissively. “And you’re nothing but an arrogant prick that thinks everything he does is worthy of worship.”

“Worship?” he asked incredulously. “Dramatic much, Weasley?”  

She turned on her heel to storm away from him and as she did, he reached out to grab her and she jerked back to avoid his hand, slipping on the wet floor. She would have fallen hard on her bum had Malfoy not wrapped an arm around her waist and kept her upright. Rose gasped, pressed against the side of his body. She turned her head to look at him in shock and found him already staring at her.

His eyes were steely and almost angry as he looked at her. His hand was braced on her ribs, just below the swell of her breast. She felt frozen as a deer run across a traveling path. Her heart thundered in her chest, chills running down her spine. She drew in a shuddering breath. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t removed her robes; she wished that there was another barrier between her flesh and the wide expanse of his palm.

Before she even thought to protest, Malfoy leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Rose whimpered, making as if to push him away, but he was persistent. Her knees weakened at the tantalizing pressure of his lips and she leaned more heavily against him.

Her nipples hardened, so close to his fingertips, aching. Her pussy throbbed.  Rose clung to his sleeve as her panties dampened, lost in the feeling of his hot mouth as it moved over her own. It didn’t matter that it was Malfoy kissing her, their history didn’t matter, all that mattered was that no one had _ever_ kissed her like this—

Malfoy pulled suddenly away from her, releasing her. He drug a hand through his hair, then flashed a grin her way.

“Well, Weasel,” he said, “at least now you can say you’ve been properly snogged. Even if no one’s fucked you.”

Then he strode from the Great Hall, completely unaffected, leaving Rose furious and gaping behind.

  
She stormed through the halls; it was quiet and darker than before. The Slytherin couple was gone. When she reached the Common Room door, the Fat Lady was asleep and Rose had to shout to wake her so that she could be let in.

“Password?” the woman in the pink dress asked drowsily.

“Pumpernickel toast,” Rose said.

The portrait swung away from the wall and Rose stepped inside. A fourth year couple was sitting on the couch in front of the fire, making out. The two girls bolted up when they saw Rose come in and she sent a playfully stern look at them and they laughed. She gave them a thumbs-up as she ascended the stairs to the girls dormitory. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was almost ten. Roxy sat up in her bed, doing her nails, and a fifth year was reading a book with her lamp on.

But most everyone else was already asleep, or trying to be.

Rose collapsed into her bed, scrambling to pull down the sheet and comforter so that she could get under them. Then she pulled off her shoes and socks, tossing them onto the floor beside her bedside table, where her lamp rested. After she pulled her jumper over her head, she began unbuttoning her white blouse that she wore under it.

“Good time?” Roxy asked from the bed beside her.

“Don’t even get me started,” she said, sighing heavily.

“That bad, huh?” her cousin inquired as she moved on to paint the nails of her right hand.

Rose threw the shirt and sweater on top of her shoes, then tossed her uniform skirt off as well. “Roxy, you don’t even want to know,” Rose replied, remembering the feel of Malfoy’s lips on her own all too clearly.

“Maybe I do,” the other girl insisted. “What’s bothering you?”

She didn’t sound particularly concerned or anything, she barely even sounded interested, but then again, Roxy rarely did. She had that kind of flippant nature to her, so Rose didn’t take offense.

“The world bothers me,” Rose said, choosing an evasive answer over an honest one. While Roxy might not react as badly as Albus would, she definitely would not be pleased, and Rose was not in the mood for any type of tiring drama tonight.  

In just her bra and panties, she slid down into the bed further, rubbing her legs against the cotton sheets in pleasure. Nothing felt quite as relaxing as a soft bed after a very long day, she thought. From beside her, Roxy laughed.

“If you’re sure,” the dark-skinned girl said, moving to painting her toes. Rose sighed.

“I'm sure,” she said. Reaching up, she switched off her lamp and rolled over, praying for dreams free of Scorpius Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter here, just trying to do a little bit of plot stuff this time around.

Quidditch was the best thing to ever happen to Rose. Her mother always wanted her to play but Rose never tried out. What position would she even play? Seeker? Catcher? _Beater?_ She giggled to herself at the thought. Her Uncle Harry had been a legendary Gryffindor Seeker, but Rose didn’t think seeking would go so well for her. Especially because of the other Seekers she would be competing against. Donovan Burrow played for Ravenclaw, with Moria Humberstone representing Hufflepuff and worst of all, Scorpius bloody Malfoy from Slytherin.

No way.

This match was Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin, with Slytherin fighting for their lives. “Hufflepuff has come out of the gate _on fire_ , Slytherin is struggling to keep up! Must not have gotten enough time on the practice field. Oh, there goes Zabini, he’s sent a mean bludgㅡblimey, Smith shoots the bludger back and it’s caught Zabini in the shoulder, that must hurt! Hufflepuff scores another point on the sly! Fifty to zero in favor of Hufflepuff!”

Beside her, Roxanne leapt up to cheer. “Give it to ‘em!” Rose cheered next to her, clapping and hollering. “Let ‘em have it!” Roxanne cheered louder. On the field, a green figure dropped sharply, the number 07 printed on the back of the jersey. _Malfoy_.

Nikolaus Thomas started rattling off a running narration again. “Looks like Malfoy’s seen the snitch! Off he goes, and Humberstone’s right behind him! Tonight’s game is most certainlyㅡ _what? Has Malfoy caught the sodding snitch?_ Sorry, Professor, but honestlyㅡ _folks, Slytherin’s Seeker has caught the snitch, cutting off Hufflepuff’s extraordinary game!_ ”

Rose booed along with the rest of the crowd, smothering the Slytherins’ cheers and whoops. “Come _on_!” Albus yelled next to her. “Damn Malfoy!” Roxanne rubbed a frustrated hand down her face. Rose rolled her eyes and dropped back down into her seat. “Wanker,” he muttered, and Rose nodded in agreement. They funneled down out of the stands, moods low. Evening wind blew her hair and scarf. The sun was setting over the mountain past the Quidditch field, turning the grass gold and russet. _Gryffindor colors_ , Rose thought. October was in the air; tomorrow would be the first of the month. Then: Halloween. Rose loved Halloween at Hogwarts.

As a witch, Rose was rather accustomed to all things whimsical, but a Hogwarts Halloween was unparalleled. She remembered her first year, when she walked into the Great Hall and saw the hovering, glowing jack-o-lanterns floating high by the night-sky ceiling. The stars even twinkled. Rose had fancied Hogwarts from the moment she stepped out of the carriage, but that night, she’d fallen head over heels in love with the school. She’d been done for ever since.

Albus and Rose walked back inside arm in arm. She happened to look up just at the wrong moment to see Malfoy strutting off the field, puffed-up as a peacock. The setting sun turned his hair golden, sweat shining on his throat. He grinned at one of his friendsㅡLorcan Scamander, Rose’s almost-cousin. He looked angelic. For a moment, she was utterly captivated, but thankfully, Albus pulled her out of it. “Hey,” he said, “what’re you looking at, Rosie?” She was guilty and disgusted with herself. That was Malfoy, for Godric’s sake! Her cheeks heated and she looked away.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just tired.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“As usual,” Rose told him. She sighed. Albus held the doors open for her and she smiled at him. “Thanks,” she said. Then it was his turn to sigh.

“Ugh. Now I have to go to bed and listen to Malfoy gloat all night about catching that sodding snitch,” he groaned. She patted him comfortingly on the back, though she was sure it brought him little comfort.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

He groaned again. “Of course it will.” 

Rose didn’t say anything else after that, just walked down with him to the Slytherin Common Room. He grimaced as they approached. He hated his House, she knew, mostly because of the people in it. “I wish I could come with you guys,” he told her on their very first night at Hogwarts, their very first year. He still struggled to make friends in his own House and while she didn’t blame him, Rose saw how lonely it made him. He was her closest friend and she tried to be around as much as possible, but it didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, Al had to go to sleep in a bed draped with Slytherin green, listening to the sounds of the giant squid drifting past under the water. It made her heart hurt.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” she told him, reaching out for a hug. He accepted, gripping her back tightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Al said. “I love you, Rosie.”

“Love you, too. See you at breakfast.”

Once Albus disappeared into the Common Room, Rose turned down the corridor again. Masculine laughter filled the hallway, echoing off the walls. She paused, but wouldn’t allow herself to be intimidated. Sure enough, Malfoy and his dog pack strolled down the hall.

“Great job,” Lorcan Scamander said. “I really thought they were going to wreck us there for a moment.” Malfoy smirked.

Rose couldn’t help but notice that he’d showered since he left the field and now his hair was darker from the water. The boys took up almost the whole width of the corridor, leaving Rose to push through them.

“Oh hey, Weasel,” Malfoy said. “What’re you doing down on this level of the castle?”

“Just seeing how the other half lives,” she snapped, shoving past Marcus Carrow to go back upstairs. It was creepy down there. She felt somethingㅡa hand?ㅡbrush her backside and when she turned around, Carrow leered down at her. He followed Malfoy to the Common Room, leaving Rose to wonder if she imagined the touch. She shuddered, her skin crawling. 


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Rose snapped her Potions book closed triumphantly, sitting up. “Finished!” she announced.

After her _encounter_ with Malfoy, the Potions textbook served as a welcome, mind numbing distraction. Finishing the damned thing became a way of training herself: every thought of Malfoy equaled a chapter in the book. She hoped she would grow to associate that memory with the droll, agonizingly boring chapters of the book, until she didn’t think about it anymore.

Roxanne grinned at her from the leather armchair. “Congrats,” she said. “Was that your last one?”

Rose nodded. “And I’ve been stuck on it for over a month.”

“You’re still way ahead of everyone else,” her cousin said.

“Now I know I’ll stay that way.”

Growing up in Hermione Granger’s shadow wasn’t always easy, but Rose didn’t need things to be easy. She needed them to be worth it. Her mother’s shadow was a blessing and a curse; keeping up with her mum academically was a challenge, but being the daughter of one of the Golden Trio has its own perks. Sadly, skills in Potions wasn’t one of them. Rose looked down at the textbook. _I win,_ she thought. The book did not reply.

A noise came from the Common Room door, a sound like paper being slid underneath the gap. Rose looked over as Roxanne rose to check. She waved a stack of letters at Rose. “What do you think these are? They’re addressed to ‘The Weasley Family’ and ‘The Potter Family’.”

Rose put her hand out and Roxanne gave her the envelopes. She opened the one addressed to her own family. It was an invitation, decorated with golden glitter and black lettering. It read:

_You’re Invited!_

_to the Hufflepuff House Halloween Masquerade_

_5 yr+, invite only, 9 pm._

_Wear something nice._

_Tap two from the bottom, mid second row, to enter._

“They’re invitations. To a masquerade,” Rose told the other girl, “in the Hufflepuff Common Room.”

“Really? A party? When?”

“On Halloween, I assume,” Rose replied. She turned the invitation over in her hand to study it. No glitter transferred to her fingers. The paper was thick and sturdy. She wondered how the Hufflepuffs made them. She allowed Roxanne to take the invitation from her and examine it herself.

“I guess we should give the other one to Lily Luna,” Roxanne said.

“She won’t be able to come, though,” Rose said. “It says that the masquerade’s fifth year and up.” Roxanne squinted and looked closer at the invitation. Her mouth slid into a frown as she saw that Rose was right. “I’ll just give it to Al when I see him tomorrow,” she offered instead, “and you should let everyone else know, too. It’s addressed to all of us, the whole family.” Roxanne smiled.

“What do you think you’ll wear?” she asked, and Rose shrugged.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I’m not sure that I have anything that’ll be good. I might need to buy something.”

“Shopping trip!” Roxanne suggested eagerly.

Rose laughed. “Maybe.

“That’s not a no,” her cousin said.

It wasn’t.

 

“So it’s a masquerade,” Albus said skeptically. Rose nodded. He held the glittery invitation in front of himself like maybe it was venomous. “Like with masks and dresses and the whole deal.” He raised one eyebrow at her and she giggled.

“Obviously _you_ don’t need to wear a dress,” she said. “I’m sure some slacks will do just as well.” He smiled back at her.

“That’s a good thing,” he said. “I’ve gained some weight and I don’t think any of my dresses fit me anymore.” Professor Flitwick said something at the front of the class and Rose glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the corner. Almost time for class to let out. Her leg bounced beneath her desk.  

“Maybe I have one that’ll fit you,” she joked.

“You? You’re even slimmer than me!”

Albus was hardly slim at all, though it was true that he was leaner and less stocky than most of the other male students. He played on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team and the rigorous practice kept him well-muscled and in-shape. He was quite a catch, though maybe Rose was a little biased. “Hmm,” he said to himself. “Hosted by Hufflepuff, huh?” There was a shy note to his voice and Rose’s eyes sharpened.

“Spit it out,” she said. She stared him down.

Albus shifted. “Well…” he said. “There actually is something I’ve been wanting to talk about…” 

Rose leaned forward. “What is it?” she demanded. 

Her cousin cleared his throat before he spoke. His voice was hesitant and mildly embarrassed. “So,” he started, “y-you know Violetta Macmillian?” 

Rose sat up straighter.“The _Hufflepuff_ girl? Al! Do you fancy her?” 

“Well,” said Albus, “I might, kind of, I don’t know, fancy her a little bit?” She squealed and reached forward to clasp his hands. “Shhh,” he said, glancing surreptitiously to the front of the class. “Keep your voice down.” He pulled his hands from hers and rubbed the back of his neck. She nodded enthusiastically.

“This is just so exciting,” Rose said, though quieter.

Albus continued. “And I was kinda wanting to ask her out…” 

Rose clapped her hands together. “Ask her!” she encouraged.

“Shh!”

Violetta Macmillian was a girl in their same year, with very pretty dark hair that was only slightly shorter than Rose’s own. She was rather quiet and very sweet, and they’d known each other for six years. Though they’d never spoken more than a few words to one another, Rose held a distant affection for the other girl. 

Albus ducked his head and currently stared very intently at his textbook. He mumbled something that Rose couldn’t hear and she encouraged him to speak up. “What if she doesn’t want to go out with me?” he said, louder.

Albus was interrupted by Professor Flitwick’s announcement from the chalkboard. “Class is finished, please leave your desks as neat as you found them!”

Rose leaned over to shove her Charms book back into her bag, still speaking to her cousin. “Oh, Merlin, Al, of course she’ll want to go out with you!” she exclaimed. She spoke louder to be heard over the rush of evacuating students. Albus looked slightly more heartened than he had a few moments ago and Rose took it to heart. “You can even ask her at the masquerade party.”

Albus was nodding hesitantly. “Yeah, I think I will ask her…” He stood up and Rose followed. “Maybe not at the party; that’s pretty soon…”

Heads together, they filed out of the door and someone knocked into her shoulder, sending Rose stumbling forward. Albus threw one arm out to keep her from falling and she looked up to see the pale-haired, tall silhouette of Scorpius Malfoy moving swiftly through the crowd. She sneered and shouldered her bag once more, but Albus straightened up and dropped his arm. 

“Hey, arsehole!” he shouted from beside her. “Watch it!”

With a glance over his shoulder, Malfoy raised his hand and flipped Albus off, an arrogant grin on his face. “Didn’t see you there!” he called back, and continued down the corridor like nothing had happened.

“Ugh,” Rose huffed, adjusting her robes. “Tosser.”

“You can say that again,” he said.

“Tosser,” she repeated and Al smiled. “So, about Violetta…”

Albus walked ahead of her. “I knew I never should have told you!” Rose laughed and hurried after her cousin.   
      


The Hufflepuff Common Room was already almost full when Rose and her family arrived. The instructions on the invitation weren’t specific, but it was common knowledge that the entrance to the Common Room was down the kitchen corridor and behind a large stack of barrels. She assumed—correctly—that they were to tap the barrel that was stacked two from the bottom and in the middle of the second row. They tried knocking once, twice, thrice, then they tried tapping out the Hufflepuff Quidditch cheer, all to no avail. “Blast it,” Lucy said.

Finally, a thought occurred to Rose. “You know what? Try ‘Helga Hufflepuff’.”

Lucy obliged, tapping out the syllables quickly. The barrel rolled to the side to allow them to enter. Albus cheered and Roxanne clapped briefly, both of them being quiet enough not to be overheard by any of the kitchen house elves. The last thing they needed was to be busted by tattle-tale house elves. Hugo gave her a brisk pat on the back and Rose bent at the waist, slipping into the Common Room. Albus followed her, one foot in front of the other. He stepped on the hem of her dress and she stumbled. “Albus!”

“Sorry, Rosie!”

Now they all looked at the crowded Common Room, filled with masked figures from all four different Houses. Couches and footstools were pushed back to the edges of the Room and students danced in the cleared space. A group of Hufflepuffs danced on the coffee table. A tall boy stepped up in front of Rose and swept down in a bow. He wore a half-faced mask that left only his mouth visible.

“Hey there,” he said, “you’re looking fancy, Rosie.”

She wore a floor-length gold dress that caught the low light and glittered. Her mask was golden to match and covered just her eyes. She smiled politely. “Hey, Derrin.”

Derrin Corner was a seventh year. He and Rose dated the year before, while she was in her fifth year and he was in his sixth. They parted amicably, as friends. For the most part. He looked handsome in his pale slacks and blue shirt. He put his hand out and Rose placed hers in his palm. “Care to dance?” he asked.

She nodded and let him pull her towards the center of the room where everyone else was dancing. Albus winked at her and Rose stuck her tongue out at him.

Derrin spun her around and around, so that her red hair fluttered around her face. “You really do look lovely tonight,” he told her. She smiled at him serenely, a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“I’d hope not.” He laughed at himself. “I was really hoping to see you tonight. It’s been awhile.”

Rose found another place to look. “I know,” she told him. “How was your summer?”

“Long,” he said, and despite the music and quick dancing, she found herself utterly bored. A short Hufflepuff passed her, a chocolate muffin in hand. A boy trailed after her, his mask already off.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.

A hand stopped her as she went into her next spin. “Mind if I cut in?” asked Marcus Carrow. Derrin stopped.

“Of course,” he said coldly, though not impolitely.

“You looked like you needed saving,” Carrow said. His mask was black and matte, patterned like snakeskin. It was unnerving. _Not by you,_ Rose wanted to say. Instead, she just nodded along. He was a smooth dancer, maybe a little better than Derrin, but his hand gripped her hip too tightly. She tried discreetly to pull away, but he kept her in close. _For Merlin’s sake,_ she thought. Out of the cauldron and into the fire.

“Thank you,” she said blandly.

“You look delectable tonight,” Carrow whispered.

“Uhm—”

“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind them. “I’d like to dance with the She-Weasel, if you don’t mind, Carrow.” Without waiting for the other boy to reply, Malfoy took her hand and led her away. The contact was like being shocked by a live wire. Rose resisted the urge to yank her hand from his until they were farther away from Carrow.

Just as she was about to shout at him for touching her, he released her hand. “Go,” he said.

“What?”

He was dressed in all black, the only color on his body silver cufflinks and his broad, silver mask. His suit jacket fit his shoulders distractingly well. Rose blushed and looked down, wishing her own mask veiled more of her face. He was very close to her, as he had been in detention. _How many times have you been fucked?_ The memory sent tingles down her spine. Malfoy watched her intently, making her cheeks heat.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget the hungry way he’d kissed her in the Great Hall, or the feel of his hand pressed so close to her breast. How unfair it was that it would be Scorpius Malfoy of all blokes to finally inspire such burning feelings inside of her.

“I said go,” Malfoy repeated. “I’m sure you’ve had enough... _fun_ with Carrow to last you all night.”

Rose gaped at him. It was the only kind thing he had ever done for her.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. Malfoy only nodded, then turned his back on her. He disappeared back into the crowd of students. She stared after him, puzzled. “What the—?”

“What was that all about?” Albus asked, coming up from behind Rose. She faced him, her skin still buzzing with awareness.

“I have no idea.”

Her best mate furrowed his brows. “He’s so bloody strange,” he said lowly. “By Godric.” Rose smirked. He even spoke like a Gryffindor. “What?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Let’s go find everyone else. I’m hungry,” she told him, and he smiled.

On a long table to the far side of the Common Room, food was piled high. Rose couldn’t imagine how the Hufflepuffs got all of it in. Sweets, pastries, cut sandwiches, all sorts of different foods. Her mouth watered. Hugo leaned up against the table, eating a chocolate muffin. Lucy nibbled on a slice of calico bread. Rose herself picked up a small cut cucumber sandwich. She tried to pace herself, but soon the sandwich was gone. Several Hufflepuffs lingered at the table, giggling and whispering. Most had their masks in hand. Rose tried to listen, but the music was too loud and they spoke too low to be heard.

“Where’d we lose you to?” Lucy asked. “I thought you were just going to have a dance with Derrin.”

“I was,” Rose said. “I just got tangled up in some other things as well.” She kept her answer purposefully vague. Albus didn’t elaborate either. She reached for a piece of calico bread. “Mmm,” she said. “This is delicious.” Lucy nodded.

“How do you think they got all of this in here?” she asked.

Roe shrugged. “Puffy magic, I suppose,” she said. Lucy laughed. Rose took another bite of her bread. “It’s just so good,” she said again.

Soon, a Ravenclaw boy pulled Lucy off to dance and left Albus, Hugo, and Rose standing with the Hufflepuffs. She didn’t know where Roxanne was. “Shall we dance?” Albus asked. Rose took his hand and he led her out.

The floor of the Hufflepuff Common Room was composed of modest, worn wooden planks, covered in several places by woven rugs. It made for uneven dancing ground, but they danced anyway. Rose caught her heel on a rug and tripped, but steadied herself on Albus’s elbow easily. He’d grown to be handsome, and he was kind. She wondered why Violetta hadn’t noticed yet. Even now, he watched her over Rose’s shoulder. She herself thought the other girl looked lovely.

Violetta wore a long dress not unlike Rose’s own, but she was taller and more willowy than Rose. The dress was a pale moss green, and made her look like a tree nymph. Light from the lit lamps caught on her bare shoulders. Even with her mask, she was easily recognizable. She was dancing with a strapping Slytherin. Rose craned her neck over her shoulder to get a better look. “Do you know him?” she asked Albus.

He shook his head. “Not really. I see him around the dorm every so often. He’s not as bad as the rest of them.”

“That’s good, right?”

“She’s so beautiful,” Albus said sadly.

“Yeah,” Rose agreed. “She is. Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

He cut his eyes to her. “Do you think I should?” he asked.

“Well, you certainly can’t dance with me all night,” Rose told him with a laugh.

Albus didn’t look convinced. “Maybe in a song or two.”

“No way,” she said. “Go now!” She pushed him off towards the Hufflepuff girl. His expression was comically terrified, but Rose didn’t give him the opportunity to think anymore about it. She shoved him harder until he began to stumble towards Violetta. She gave him a thumbs up when he glanced back at her.

Hugo laughed. “Look how awkward he looks. Merlin’s beard.” Albus did look rather awkward; he hovered to the side of the dancing couple, too polite to cut in.

“Poor Al,” Rose said sympathetically.

She caught a glimpse of a silver-masked figure and her heart jumped in her chest. But the boy wore a green shirt beneath his suit jacket, not a black one. She looked away, glad Al wasn’t here to question her. Hugo didn’t notice. Thankfully, Marcus Carrow was nowhere to be seen either. Being near him always made Rose feel like bugs were crawling over her skin. She hadn’t been happy dancing with Derrin, but she didn’t want to dance with Carrow either. He was about as slimy as the Giant Squid. Just thinking about it made her uncomfortable. She was more grateful to Malfoy for rescuing her than she wanted to admit.

At half-past midnight, Rose felt herself growing tired. “I’m going to head back to the Common Room. I have class tomorrow,” she told Roxanne.

“So do the rest of us,” her cousin commented.

Rose didn’t acknowledge what she’d said. “Let Albus know where I went,” she continued. He still danced with Violetta; they had been dancing and talking for at least a half hour. Albus was smiling radiantly, as though he’d brought home the catch of the day.

Rose left—more accurately, she snuck out, afraid to be stopped or questioned. Her feet hurt in her high heels. She couldn’t remember if she got a chance to sit down or not. She didn’t think so. As she passed an alcove in the corridor, a moan and a flash of silver gave her pause. Rose stopped, startled by the entwined pair half-hidden in the shadowed alcove.

The masked boy raised his head, and Malfoy met her eyes over the girl’s head. His silver eyes shone hot behind his mask and Rose’s breathing stopped. Lust hit her in the belly. His lips were swollen and red and curled lazily into a smirk.

The expression was pure, masculine sex, and Rose’s knees wobbled. Malfoy’s hand was fisted in the girl’s hair, her head in his lap. The collar of his shirt gaped open, exposing pale skin and the hollow of his throat. In that moment, even more so than that day in the Great Hall, Rose understood why all of the other girls were willing to throw themselves at Scorpius Malfoy’s feet.

Taken aback by him, the situation, and herself, Rose stumbled a few steps back. Malfoy closed his eyes and let out a low groan that made her clench her thighs together. As if he knew how it would affect her—as if he meant it to—he opened his eyes and winked at her.

Finally, Rose broke out of whatever spell held her in place. Because it was almost certainly a spell; Rose never would have allowed herself to stand there and watch, not in her right mind. She hurried down the corridor, away from the kitchens and the Hufflepuff Common Room and Malfoy. The shame came down like a wave. What would Albus say if he knew about what just happened?

If he knew that she had let Malfoy kiss her?

She felt ill just thinking about it.

She stripped off her dress at the foot of her bed and left it laid over her trunk. In the low light, it glittered like sunlight on water. She extinguished the burning lamp at her bedside and climbed into her bed. The sheets were luxurious against her bare legs.

Rose’s dreams that night were filled with glimpses of a silver mask, silver eyes, and the pale hollow of a boy’s throat. Echoes of a groan taunted her. In the dream, she reached out and put a hand against his chest and he made that low sound again. When she jolted awake the next morning, she was guilty and sinfully sticky between her legs.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day in Charms, she sat down last next to Albus. Professor Flitwick stood up at the front of the class and cleared his throat. “We’ll be arranging some new seats this term,” he announced, “and I ask that everyone be polite about their assignments.” Rose looked at Al in confusion and he shrugged.

After a moment, their professor began pointing to desks and calling names. She frowned when Albus was assigned to a desk on the opposite side of the room with a Ravenclaw girl. He gave her an apologetic look as he gathered his materials. “Sorry, Rosie,” he mouthed. She waved him off. It wasn’t his fault. But her temper rose as Flitwick called more and more pairs until only she and Malfoy were left.

Sure enough, when Professor Flitwick reached the last desk in the third row, he called, “Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy,” and pointed his finger at Malfoy when he opened his mouth. “With,” the professor said, “no complaints.”

He walked back to the front of the room.

Rose was going to die. She looked to Albus for comfort and he looked just as horrified as she felt, though he didn’t know every reason that Rose had to hate this. Already, her cheeks burned. Malfoy watched her but she didn’t meet his eyes as she joined him.

_Have mercy,_ she prayed to no one in particular.

“How was your night last night?” Malfoy asked lowly, leaning towards her imperceptibly. She leaned away.

“Leave me alone,” she hissed. He just slid closer, so close that she was able to smell his cologne and...shampoo? He smelled as though he’d recently showered. She refused to look at him, though heat burned low in her belly.

“Give me a reason why I should, Weasley.”

Rose felt his eyes on her, her spine tingling with awareness. “You’re such a bloody wanker, Malfoy.” She pressed her lips together in irritation. His breath hit the shell of her ear and she shuddered. Malfoy chuckled darkly. The sensuality of the sound raised goosebumps on Rose’s skin.

“Wanker, huh?” he asked. Rose didn’t move. “I bet you’d like watching that as well.”

She blushed at the image that rose to her mind. She imagined Malfoy kneeling on a bed draped in Slytherin green, one hand wrapped around his flushed cock. While she watched, he stroked himself lazily, then let out a low, luxurious groan like he had in the dark corridor. She crossed her legs tightly. “Damn you, Malfoy.” The words came out breathlessly.

“But you like it, don’t you?” he demanded. “I can see you panting for it. Your throat is flushed. I can practically smell the heat on you, Weasley.” She heard the satisfied smirk in his voice.

“Professor,” Rose called suddenly, “may I use the loo, please?”

Professor Flitwick glanced at her. “Can’t you wait till the end of class, Miss Weasley?” There were only ten minutes left.

“It’s an emergency,” Rose said weakly.

“Very well. Make it quick.”

She hurried out of the classroom to the ladies lounge. How could Malfoy speak to her like that? Yet she couldn’t deny the effect it had on her. Her thighs felt sticky beneath her skirt and robes. She started when the door to the loo slammed open. Rose whirled, horrified to see Malfoy standing in front of the closed door. His eyes bored into hers. “Godric!” she exclaimed. “Won’t you let me be?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes!” She pointed a finger in his direction. “You’re mad to speak to me like that! Who do you think you are? As if I would be attracted to _you_!” She laughed harshly. “How ridiculous!” Malfoy stepped closer to her and she backed up, still speaking at him. “You may think you have every female within a hundred meters wrapped around your finger, but that doesn’t make it true!”

“I’ve said nothing to you that you don’t enjoy—” he began, but Rose cut him off.

“I enjoy nothing about you!” she spat. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Malfoy’s eyes darkened with an obscure emotion; possibly lust, possibly anger. “There is nothing to you but bastardly, man-whor—” Without warning, Malfoy surged forward and pressed her back against the smooth stone of the wall. Before Rose had the chance to protest, he covered her mouth with his.

His entire body lit sensations inside of her; his body rubbing against hers, his hands kneading her hips, his tongue stroking against her own as his lips moved over hers. He stroked her desire to a fever pitch as he brushed his erection against her core. Rose cried out without thinking, yanking on his hair and pushing her tongue against his.

_Oh Merlin, can this kill me?_

She could absolutely see why other girls did this with him so much. It was so easy to lose herself in the kiss; this feeling erased and overshadowed every other feeling that she’d had or thought of having. All too soon, though, Malfoy pulled away, breathing heavily. Not that Rose’s breathing was steady either; she panted like she’d run a mile, her chest heaving and her cheeks burned.

“Holy Merlin,” she whispered, reaching up to brush her fingers across her lips.

Malfoy stared down at her with a mixture of violent anger and roaring desire. No one had ever looked at her like that and it took the remainder of her breath away. What had she just done?

“I wouldn’t have had to do if you would have just shut the fuck up,” he told her harshly. Then quietly to himself, he said, “Oh, _fuck_ .” He pulled away from her entirely, turning away. She stumbled on shaky knees away from the wall, the feeling of his hands on her waist still fresh on her skin. Then it really hit her:

“I am… _so_ screwed…” she mumbled, fisting her hands in her hair.

She tugged at it, desperate to regain what remained of her sanity. Her cunt ached between her thighs and her legs still shook. Malfoy paced a few yards in front of her, his hands in his hair as well. Rose’s lips felt swollen and her skin was hot and too tight for her body. Her entire body felt sensitized. Where had this reaction been when she’d needed it, in bed with those other blokes? She felt like screaming. Her robes were rumpled from where Malfoy shoved them up around her waist and she knew that if she looked in the mirror, her lips would be reddened from his kisses.

“What’s wrong with me? Albus is going to kill me,” she said. “We’re bloody _mad_ , Malfoy. _You’re_ mad. What if someone had walked in? We’re in the sodding ladies lounge for Godric’s sake!” Her voice rose to a dangerously high octave.

Malfoy rounded on her. “Can you shut your bloody mouth for one damn minute?” he yelled. “Could you just keep it shut?”

“Oh, don’t you dare yell at me,” Rose told him venomously. “You did this, _you_ kissed _me_ , Scorpius Malfoy, not the other way around.” Her whole body shook with anger and exhilaration. Was he as affected by her as she was by him?

The boy took an angry breath. “You kissed me back, you know,” he sneered loudly. “This isn’t all my bloody fault, Weasley! You loved every second on my hands on you.”

She had. Rose lowered her head, shame-faced. She’d let a Malfoy touch her, and she’d liked it. Something must be terribly wrong with her—with both of them, because she’d felt his hard cock pressed against her and knew that he’d enjoyed it as well. She could have denied it, but her body already betrayed her. She huffed and straightened her robes. Malfoy looked at her for a moment longer then, without saying anything else, he pivoted sharply on one heel and stalked from the bathroom.

_Good riddance,_ Rose thought, shaking her head.

⚯͛

Scorpius couldn’t believe himself. _What would Dad say,_ Scorpius thought, _if he knew I was this hot for a Weasley?_ The family rivalry was legendary. He buried his head in his hands. He could still taste her on his tongue; sweet like honey, a hint of spice. He licked his lips. Once he’d taken her, he’d be able to let it go. He’d be able to release the obsession that trailed him like a black dog.

The door to the men’s lounge swung open and Scorpius flipped on the tap, so that it looked like he was busy washing his hands. Just in the nick of time, too. Carrow strolled into the loo, hands in the pockets of his robes. He grinned. “And here I thought you’d gone chasing after a certain red-headed witch.” Scorpius rolled his eyes and dried his hands on the towel. Carrow liked to needle him because of Scorpius’s status at the top of the food chain. “I just saw her on the way here,” he continued.

Scorpius knew he was full of it. If Carrow had seen Weasley, he would have known that she and Scorpius had been together. “Oh, did you?” he asked mildly.

“Mhmm. Salazar, she’s tempting. Don’t you think?” Carrow asked.

He didn’t allow himself to be baited. “She’s a Weasley,” he said. “She’s hardly even worth a quick shag in the stairwell.” He shouldered last the other Slytherin and went to go gather his things from the Charms classroom.

The thought of Carrow putting his hands anywhere near Weasley’s petite, delicate form made Scorpius rabid. That was exactly what Carrow wanted, though. He wanted to find some weakness, however small, and then he would exploit it mercilessly. Merlin only knew how he would do so, but Scorpius was sure that it would mean nothing good for Weasley or himself.

⚯͛

Rose threw her bag down next to her seat. Albus harassed her all day yesterday about why she seemed so “off”. “Nothing,” she’d told him, because there was no way for her to explain what happened between her and Malfoy.

Her head throbbed with stress. She hated keeping secrets from Al. It didn’t help that Malfoy looked utterly edible. He watched her with heavy eyes, his hair styled messily. “Top o’ the morning, Weasel,” he said. She sat down without replying. His eyes stayed on her. She felt them roam down her body.

“Knock it off,” she said. “You’re going to make my cousin suspicious.”

“Potter?”

“Yes!”

Flitwick began his lecture at the chalkboard. Today, they were talking about the ancient arctic migration of wizards from the South Pole to Mesopotamia. Malfoy wouldn’t leave her alone. “I can still taste you,” he murmured. “You’re _sweet_.” Rose closed her eyes for a moment.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Someone’s going to notice. Stop.”

“I would,” he said, “but I don’t think you want me to, Weasley.”

She did, but she also desperately didn’t. His scent was subtle and tantalizing. “You’re an absolute sleaze,” she told him and he hummed, sounding amused.

“I think you’ve said about everything there is to say yesterday,” Malfoy said. His voice lowered until even she could hardly hear him. “I wouldn’t bother trying to pretend you don’t want this.”

“I don’t.”

“You do, though.”

She hissed in frustration and he chuckled. “And I want you,” he continued. Rose was suddenly thankful that they were seated at the back of the class, where there were less students to listen in. “I _want_ you,” he growled, and her lips parted with a quiet gasp. So this was how he’d seduced so many other girls into his bed; he drove them crazy without ever touching them.

“Please,” Rose said. _Have mercy._

Malfoy sighed. “I love hearing you beg for me.” Rose swore under her breath. He kept speaking. “I could give you the best night of your life, you know.”

“Like you gave all those other girls?”

She might as well have not spoken. “I’d lay you down and spread your legs—”

“Malfoy!”

Finally, she jerked her head to stare at him in disbelief. What was he thinking? Kissing her had been bad enough. Had he forgotten who she was, who _they_ were to each other? Had _she_ forgotten? As guilty as kissing him made her feel, she still wanted more. _Craved_ more. Looking at him now had her shaking with desire. She was sure he could tell.

He grinned wider. “I’d stretch you out and lick between your legs until you came apart for me.” More arousing than his words was the way she could see them affecting him as well.

His face was warm with color, his silver eyes heated to liquid mercury. Slowly, hesitantly, she let her gaze drift down to where his robes parted on his lap. She could see the strong ridge of his erection straining against his uniform slacks. Her mouth watered. He rolled his hips gently, just for her. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She would never, ever tell Albus any of this. She would never tell anyone.

“I hate you,” she told Malfoy.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page,” he said. “Meet me in the Astronomy Tower.”

Rose bit her lip. “I can’t.”

“Meet me tonight. Once everyone’s asleep.”

“Malfoy—”

“Say yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Fine. Tonight.”

 

Rose chewed her lip, pulling her long robe around her tighter. Light snores filled the dorm. She treaded carefully so as not to disturb anyone else. This would be a very difficult situation to talk her way out of. Her heart pounded with the thrill.

Beneath her satin robe, she wore a pair of lacey black knickers and a matching bra. Derrin, her ex-boyfriend, liked this set the best. Hopefully other boys would as well. Sneaking around the castle in just her light robe and lingerie made her feel naughty and excited. Aside from her annual pranks, Rose was always a good student. Well-behaved, respectable. It felt good to break that mould that she made for herself.

Her steps sounded lightly through the hall. Finally, she arrived at the base of the Astronomy Tower stairwell. It spiraled up into the Tower. She wondered if Malfoy already arrived, if he waited for her at the top of the stairs. Was she really going to go through with this? She paused, but the corridor was chilly, especially with Rose clothed in only her thin night robe. She ascended the stairs one by one with bated breath. She hardly felt like herself. The Rose of last year never would have agreed to meet a boy in the Astronomy Tower, and definitely not Scorpius Malfoy of all boys.

“Malfoy?” she called as she hovered on the threshold. A dark form moved in the shadows and Rose flinched.

“It’s me,” Malfoy said, amused. “Jumpy tonight?” He strode towards her and Rose stared at him. The Tower was dark except for moonlight coming through the windows. Malfoy wore a tight undershirt and loose silk pajama pants.

“Shove off,” Rose said without heat.

Malfoy wrapped his arms around her, yanking her body against his. He palmed her arse and Rose lurched forward, taken by surprise. “Weasley,” Malfoy reproached, “I thought you had experience with this sort of thing.” He gripped her harder and she squealed. “Maybe I’ll just have to break you in, huh?”

_Have you ever been fucked?_

“I don’t need to be broken in, but thank you,” she said weakly.

“We’ll see.”

He closed his mouth over hers, dominating her easily. She braced herself with hands on his forearms, her nails digging into him until he hissed. He bit down on her lip and she felt the skin break. She gasped and pulled away, tasting blood. “That hurt!” Blood ran down her chin and she stepped away from him.

The look on Malfoy’s face was absolutely predatory. She almost didn’t recognize him: his eyes were nearly black, lines of tension set into his face. Her clit and bloodied lip throbbed in tandem. Eyes locked with hers, he yanked her satin robe down off of her shoulders and let it pool on the floor at her feet. She stepped out of it. The cool air of the Tower brought goosebumps up on her arms. Suddenly shy, she moved to cross her arms over her chest, but Malfoy pulled her wrists down. “Let me look at you,” he said, his voice husky. He said it in a way that left no room for argument.

Under his gaze, she might as well have been completely nude—that was how vulnerable she felt in her little nightgown. He looked like he wanted to eat her alive.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back towards him. On instinct, Rose struggled and he grinned. “Oh, Rosie,” he said, “don’t start that. We both know you want this.”

Rose clenched her thighs together even as her temper flared. “Prat,” she spat. But her chest heaved, her nipples hardening. His hand tightened on her slender wrist and he hauled her closer. Her knees shook. She raised her hand—to do what, she wasn’t sure—and he caught it and pinned it to her side.

“Is this the game you want to play, Weasel?” Malfoy asked, voice low. “You want it rough?”

A whimper escaped her throat.

Rose flushed red. “Maybe I don’t want anything with you,” she said, but the words were weak and breathy. “Maybe you should just let me go.” He smirked dangerously.

“Let you go?” He bowed his head, breath ghosting over her ear and jaw. “Why would I do that, when I can practically smell your little pussy creaming for me?”

She gasped. No one had ever spoken to her like that, certainly not in bed. It made her already-weak knees weaker. He lowered his voice: “I saw the way you watched her suck me of in that hallway. I bet you wished it was _your_ mouth I was fucking.” Rose moaned as his teeth brushed her collarbone; a threat, an invitation.

“I didn’t,” she protested. He slid his hand down to her ass and pawed her harshly.

“I should bend you over my knee for lying to me,” Malfoy growled.

She melted against him as both of his hands gripped her bottom. He lifted her, making her squeal in surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and Malfoy dragged his mouth across the exposed curve of her breast. He sank to his knees, palming her thighs. Soft velvet pillows pressed against her back as he laid her on the floor of the Tower.

The thick ridge of his erection rubbed between her legs. She strained closer, desperate to feel his cock grinding on her clit. He chuckled against her skin.”Should I have let you go, Weasley?” he demanded, raising his head to meet her eyes. “Should I have?”

“Shut up,” Rose said. She closed her eyes to escape his hot glare. “Just shut up and shag me.”

“Maybe if you beg.”

He yanked down her neckline to expose her unbound breasts. “No bra,” he said. “I like it.” He was still propped up between her spread thighs. He looked so _good_ , his hair mussed, his eyes heavy-lidded as they had been in the corridor after the masquerade. Eves on hers, he leaned down and took one of her pink nipples into his mouth.

Rose groaned his name, arching into his touch. He held tight to her hips, holding her fast when she tried to rub her aching pussy on his cock. In one quick movement, Malfoy had her nightgown up and over her head and off of her. She whined, already reaching for him, but he laid back down over her, this time spreading her thighs open even farther.

He hummed in approval. “So wet for me,” he said. “Look, you’ve soaked through your knickers, Weasley.”

And then he ripped them off her hips.

Rose’s lips parted indignantly, but a rush of wetness interrupted her. He laughed and she tried to clamp her legs shut, but Malfoy held her open. “ _So_ wet,” he repeated. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been this wet for me.” Then, as she watched, he pressed his mouth to her cunt.

She cried out, tangling her fingers in his fine, white-silver hair. “Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.”

Her skin felt on fire as he lapped at her. He pushed his tongue past her tight entrance, his wet mouth sliding against her sopping wet pussy. She mewled and whimpered, every part of her body sensitized and desperate. She’d never felt so empty; she’d never needed to be filled so badly. “Please,” she sobbed.

“Beg me.”

“Please!”

“ _Beg me_ ,” Malfoy snarled.

Even as her cheeks burned, she begged, “Fill me up, please, stuff me full. Malfoy, I need it so bad, I need you, _please_.” Tears burned her eyes and her legs trembled. The pleasure was so intense, she thought she might die from it. “ _Malfoy_.”

Without warning, he forced two fingers inside of her. The sudden stretch burned, but it hurt so bloody good. She clamped her thighs around his head as she came, his tongue laving her clit until she saw stars.

⚯͛

She looked so bloody perfect, laying there with her red hair spread out over the pillows, her thighs slick with her juices. All of that wetness, all for him. He pressed his cheek to her inner thigh and withdrew his fingers from her tight cunt. Her pussy was swollen and red from his use; maybe two fingers had been too much for her. She was tighter than any other witch he’d ever shagged before.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he told her, and her sex-heavy eyes opened. He made sure she was watching as he licked her wetness from his fingers and palm. “And so sweet.”

Weasley licked her lips. “Fuck me, Malfoy.”

His cock throbbed against the fly of his trousers. _By Merlin_. “You asked for it,” he said.

He flipped her onto her belly, yanking her ass into the air. Wetness ran down her thigh from her reddened pussy and he resisted the urge to lick it up. Above her cunt, her ass was tiny and pink, shining from her juices. He rubbed a thumb over her hole and she lurched forward.

“Malfoy!” she exclaimed.

He grinned. “I’ll have you here too, Weasley,” he promised. “I’m going to take you everywhere you can imagine.”

Before she had the chance to reply, he plunged his cock inside of her. Her fists clenched the pillow above her head. He couldn’t hold back his groan as he watched his shaft stretch her little pussy. He wasn’t massive, but he knew he was bigger than most witches were used to and with how tight she was, it was a miracle he fit inside of her at all. But she took him all the way, whining as she forced her cunt back onto his cock. The noises drove him mad.

Scorpius thrust all the way to the hilt, gritting his teeth at her gasp. “Malfoy!” she cried.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled. “You like this? You like squirming on my cock, feeling it stretch you till you can’t take anymore?” he demanded, shoving himself even deeper into her.

“Godric, the way you talk…”

His balls tightened, his shaft twitching as her cunt milked him. He knew she was close. “Tell me you cast the charm, Weasley.”

He felt her come around his cock, the wet heat of her pussy sucking and clenching around him as if trying to pull him in even deeper. She buried her face in the pillow, smothering her cries and moans as she came. He thought he saw her shake her head.

With more effort than he ever thought himself capable of, Scorpius wrenched himself out of her and fisted his cock. His cum stained her ass and lower back, milky against her pale skin and her pink little hole. He bit his lip, working himself through the orgasm, then collapsed on the pillows beside her.

“For Salazar’s sake,” he growled, rolling over. “What a lay.” Then he pushed himself up on his elbows and reached down to button his trousers.

Rose cast a Cleaning Charm on herself. He looked over at her; he couldn’t deny he was stunning. He felt a pang of masculine satisfaction that it was his cum she was cleaning off of herself, not Marcus Carrow’s or that Ravenclaw prat’s. She looked up and their eyes met. He smirked at her.

“You abominable bastard,” she huffed, but the effect was lessened by her breathlessness. He’d worn her out.

“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.” He rose to his feet. “Put your night gown on, Weasley,” he told her. “I’ll see you in Charms.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Rose slept fitfully that night, thinking of Malfoy and how she wondered if she was ever going to be able to tell Roxy and Lily and Hugo and Albus about what she’d done. When she awoke, she pulled on her clothes and gathered her bag and school books before rushing to her first class, Potions. She sat down next to Albus, who was pulling quills and text books out of his bag.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked him. His hair was messy, as though he hadn’t brushed it, even though Rose knew that he had. He’d gotten his father’s hair; in fact, out of all of his siblings, he looked most like her Uncle Harry.

“’Slept fine,” he grunted, setting his book down. “What about you?”

Rose shrugged. “I slept okay,” she said.

“Good, I guess,” Albus said as he straightened up. He seemed slightly distracted.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rose asked him.

He glanced at her. “Me?” he asked. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” she insisted, and he sighed.  

“Well…”

Rose perked up. “What? Spit it out, Al.”

“My Herbology test came back. It wasn’t what I thought it would be,” he confessed after a moment. “I mean, I know it’s not that big of a deal, but…”

“It’s _not_ that big of a deal,” Rose said. “Not at all. I’m positive Uncle Neville’ll let you make it up if you talk to him about it.”

Albus worried his lip with his teeth. “I’m just worried about Mum and Dad,” he said. “Maybe it’s a bad test grade now, then a bad N.E.W.T. later.” He sighed. “I don’t want to disappoint them, Rosie.”

She reached out and patted her cousin on the arm. Even if she thought he was being horribly ridiculous, she didn’t want him to feel alone.  “Don’t worry about it, Al,” she assured him. “They’ll understand; not everyone can get good grades all the time.”

“You can,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s because I’m perfect.” She let out a light  laugh.

To her relief, Al laughed, too. The professor called for the class’s attention and both Rose and Albus turned their attention towards the front of the room.

After came Charms, and Rose and Albus walked together to the room. Rose was expecting to be ignored when she sat down next to Malfoy, but he surprised her by looking up at her and nodding in greeting. Taken aback, she nodded hesitantly back at him and he gave a smirk. She wasn’t sure that she liked that smirk, either. She had just finished pulling her books and quills and papers out of her bag when Malfoy dropped a folded-up square of parchment onto the desk in front of her.

She picked it up, glancing at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. The professor had started talking and he was scribbling down notes. Rose unfolded the note.

_Meet me in Room 117 at lunch._

Rose pocketed the note, tucking it away inside of her robes beside her wand. Luckily, she knew exactly where Room 117 was. Possibly unluckily, it was one of the abandoned classrooms, and it was a notorious make-out spot. Her stomach twisted. She hardly noticed the professor’s lecture until it was over and everyone stood up to leave.  
Malfoy stood up as well, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “See you soon, Weasel,” he told her under his breath.

She blushed.

As usual, she went with Albus to Herbology, but she hardly paid attention, and she only had half of a page of notes and had been bitten twice by a Carnivorous Cabbage by the time she walked back out the door. She ate so quickly at lunch that Lily Luna asked if she was going through a growth spurt, or else if she was expecting the world to end. She denied both but rushed out of the Great Hall, leaving her siblings and cousins in a baffled silence. Her stomach was a knot of nerves. When she reached the door to Room 117, the door was closed. Through the blurred glass, she saw a tall, lanky shape with pale hair standing inside. Almost as if it was waiting.

With a bracing breath, she opened the door and slipped inside.

 

Malfoy was half-seated on a desk when she closed the door behind her. “So,” he said. “You came.”

“I came,” Rose said, lifting her arms slightly from her sides as she walked towards him.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes; he leaned his body towards hers. She allowed her body to curve into his. He rolled his hips forward, just barely, and she bit her lip.

_Well, why the hell not?_

She pressed her mouth to Malfoy’s, thrusting her tongue through his teeth, the hatred and irritation that she had harbored against him for years pushing in, too. He groaned, heartfelt and long, pulling his hands from her own and fisting the bottom of her curls. Using them to pull her head back slightly, he deepened the kiss even more. Rose gasped and he laughed. As she ran her hands up his chest, rubbing them over his shoulders then down his back, she adjusted to the feeling of him: strong and solid and lean.  
Shamefully, she wanted his shirt off; she wanted to see his chest, to feel his bare skin. Rose pushed his robes off his shoulders, tugged at the hem of his Slytherin jumper. He pulled his mouth off of hers.

“Little eager, Weasley?” he taunted, grabbing her hands. “Not what I expected of you.” He grinned at her.

She _ached_ between her legs.

“Off,” she panted, ignoring his jabs. She dragged it up his torso, pushing against his hands. “Malfoy, take it _off,_ you stupid prat.”

“Greedy,” he observed, but yanked his jumper over his head anyway.

But he wasn’t wrong: she was growing desperate with desire, hungry with need, her body hot and her breasts heaving. She had never had this before and now that she did, she didn’t want to wait, even if something inside of her shied away in embarrassment.

“I think I’ve just found a decent, enjoyable side of our Rose Weasley,” Malfoy murmured, unbothered. He worked from the top of his shirt down, undoing buttons efficiently. Rose yanked the button-down out of the waistband of his trousers.

“You’re so sweet,” she said sarcastically, and finally he undid the final button.

Ravenously, Rose shoved the shirt off of him, baring his upper body to her gaze.

She sucked in a little gasp. Breathing was suddenly difficult and she felt herself soaking through her knickers. Strength showed in every part of him, his lean torso and his muscular arms and the cut of his thighs under his trousers. Everything about Malfoy was clear, defined. Quidditch clearly had done him well.

She traced her fingers over his abs, watching as his skin leapt at her touch. She could hear his shuddering breaths. So she _was_ affecting him as well.

She raked her nails over his shoulders and he hissed like a snake. “Shit,” he swore.

Suddenly he was hopping up off the desk, knocking her back forcefully before grabbing her around the waist and swinging her up to where he sat previously. “What the—” she began, but Rose stopped as he nudged her legs apart and flipped up her skirt.

Her robes fanned out and draped over the desk. Her silk, pastel pink panties were exposed to his stare and Malfoy looked up at her as he gripped them to pull them down. “I-I’m not having sex with you in an old classroom,” she gasped out.

He chuckled. “No, Weasley, we’re not going to have sex,” he told her, deep voice smoothing over her senses.

“Then, what are you…”

Her question trailed off as he looked at her, sinking to his knees in front of her, hands still braced to pull down her undergarments. “Hey,” he said as she tried to pull her knees closed. His grin was off-kilter, rogue-ish. “You trust me, don't you?”

“Never in a million years, Malfoy.”

“Alright, then,” he said, as if she’d said ‘yes’.

He dragged her panties down torturously slow, until he had to have her close her legs so that he could slip them off of one leg. A breeze fanned over the wet folds of her pussy and she shuddered, fighting the urge to close her legs.

“Malfoy, I’m—” Her voice shook with nerves and she cursed herself, stopping to steady it. But he’d already heard the weakness.

“Weasley, if you don’t want  me to do this, then we can just call it qu—”

She cut him off. “No, I just…” She cringed and trailed off, but he’d already caught the scent of her weakness. He honed in on it and his eyes dulled in a faint surprise. He raised an eyebrow, sharp as a knife.

“Well, I plan to go down on you, Weasley,” he said. “Aren’t you familiar with that?”

He knew she wasn’t.

“I’m so surprised,” he said, the sarcasm bleeding through his voice like venom. She hated him, but her legs shook with need for him to touch her, to pull down her knickers and press his mouth to her cunt like he threatened to do. “You’re like a little virgin for me, aren’t you?”

Rose closed her eyes to escape his shining glare.

His teeth sank into the soft flesh of her calf and she lurched forward, crying out. “Malfoy!” Only his grip on her knickers kept her from toppling off the little desk. She looked down. Two half moons of tooth marks marred her milky skin, already red with the beginnings of a bruise.

He growled, “You’re like a little virgin for me. Aren’t you?”

Rose stared at him, heart pounding in her chest. Her calf throbbed where he’d bitten her, but his growl made her even wetter. He dragged the pad of his thumb over her covered pussy, a smirk starting on his lips. “And so responsive,” he murmured. “ _Aren’t you_?” The question was a low snarl.

Mutely, she nodded.

He slid her hips to the very edge of the desk. Edging forward, he pressed his mouth to the very inside of her thigh. His tongue flicked out, licking her hot skin. Anticipation made her heart race in her chest. Here she was, in an empty classroom, whoring herself out for a Malfoy and loving it. She whimpered and fisted her hands at her sides, waiting to see what he would do to her next.

“Malfoy,” she whined. She tried to rock her hips up to his mouth, but his hands held her still where they pressed to her lower back.

He ripped off her knickers in one smooth motion. She heard the tear of the silk and sucked in a breath. Scorpius Malfoy smiled at up at her from between her legs, then lowered his gaze. She’d never felt so vulnerable as she did now with Malfoy knelt on the ground in front of her, staring at her pussy, his face tense with desire.

“So pretty,” he purred, stroking one finger up and down her folds. “So pink and plump. You’re really trying to tell me no one’s eaten this pretty pussy before, Weasley?”

She shook her head, her pupils overblown with lust. No one had ever talked to her like that. Malfoy nipped hard at her cunt. “More for me,” he said simply. “A bloody shame for those poor blokes, though.”

Then he lowered his mouth to her.

The sensations were alien to her. It felt as though she was being lit up with live volts of energy. Her thighs quivered and little mewls escaped her lips. Something tugged hard in her lower belly, demanding to be tended to. She shook her hair back, resituating her hands to hold her up better so that she could watch Malfoy. Silver eyes crashed against warm brown. He was watching her when he inclined his head just slightly and sucked her pink clit into his mouth.

Rose cried out. Her head fell back as Malfoy released her clit, licking through her folds to her tiny, soaking entrance. She jerked with every stroke. Eyes half-closed, she raised her head. Malfoy was still watching her, his eyes hot. She reclined against his arms that held her up, letting the pleasure break over her in waves. Rose shook, her entire body quivering.

She wanted to beg Malfoy never to stop. She had never cared less about the fact that this was Scorpius bloody Malfoy shagging her than she did at that moment. But she clung desperately to her pride, even when his tongue slid into her pussy and he started to fuck her like that. She screamed, lifting her hands to fist his hair, rearing up violently as she came.

“Malfoy!” His name was torn from her and out her mouth before she could think it through.

After a moment, she sagged back against the desk until she was laying totally flat on the table-top. Malfoy leaned over her, smirking. Those eyes of his as glinted as he rested his elbows on either side of her shoulders.

She was so wet that she’d glossed over his lips, leaving them full and shiny. He licked the taste of her off with relish, making sure she saw every minute motion of his tongue. The grin on his face turned devilish and Rose thought, _oh, okay. I do get it after all_.

“So,” he said conversationally. “How was it?”

She let her head loll, closing her eyes. “I decline to answer that,” she said.  

“You ever came with a bloke before?” he asked her.

Rose didn’t answer.

She flipped her skirt down, smoothing it over her thighs. She could feel the mess she’d made under her legs and on the table. She flushed hot with mortification. She stretched out a hand for her knickers, dropped beside his knee. He hadn’t risen from the floor yet.

Malfoy shook his head, a glint in his eyes. “These are ruined anyway. I think I’ll keep them.” And he tucked the torn pink silk of panties into the pocket of his trousers. His hair was wild around his forehead. Had she done that? Was that her fault? “Unless you want them as a memento of your first orgasm?”

“It’s not my first,” she snapped. Just her first with a bloke.

It didn’t matter. He’d read her silence already; she felt exposed under his gaze. She didn’t seem to be able to hide anything from him.

Irritated, she watched as he picked his white button-down from the floor. His skin was pale, deliciously so. His chest was toned like his stomach and she felt a punch of attraction in her gut.  Rose let her gaze wander down him, following the light trail of hair down from his navel. It was then that she noticed his erection still straining against his slacks.

“Oh,” she said, and he noticed her looking. “Did you—”

“Lunch is gonna be over soon,” he told her, slipping on his shirt and doing up with buttons quickly.

Rose stood up on shaky legs, arranging her robes again. Malfoy pulled his jumper over his head, messing up his blond hair even more.  
Her gaze darted again to his trousers and he met her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Weasley,” he said. “Enjoy your afterglow.”

And in a second, he was out of Room 117, the rush of students trying to get to their classes on time swallowing him up, leaving her standing alone, surprised and confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is much appreciated in the comments; this is obviously my first multi-chapter work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this story has been absolutely amazing! Thank you so much. Before we jump into the action, I wanted to discuss my tentative update schedule with you a bit. I have the full thing outlined and most of it written—now it’s just a matter of filling in the gaps, revising the chapters and getting them beta’d. I want to have this story completed for y’all within a few months, so right now I’m going to be trying to upload 2-3 chapters a week. 
> 
> I have a busy life and I can’t promise perfection, but that’s what I’m shooting for. I’m sure you guys won’t have a problem holding me accountable. ;)

Scorpius laid in bed, casting tiny Patronus charms on the ceiling. Several tiny runespoors raced through the crevices of the stones, playing hide and seek. Light from the setting sun filtered through the lakewater, turning the dorm a bright green. A little runespoor hiding in the room’s corner weakly regurgitated an egg before disappearing. Scorpius chuckled and cast another to take its place.

“Do they have to do that?” Lysander Scamander asked as another three-headed snake vomited its eggs and evanesced.

Scorpius shrugged. “It’s natural for them,” he said. “I think it makes them cooler.”

Carrow emerged from the hallway wearing only a towel. He cast a drying charm on his hair and raked his fingers through it to check the spell’s effectiveness. He smirked when he saw Scorpius’s wand and the pale, shimmering serpents emerging from the tip.

“So lonely you have to conjure friends now?” he asked, arching a dark eyebrow. Scorpius cast a larger Patronus in his direction and scoffed.

“Begone, foul Dementor,” Lysander said, and Scorpius laughed.

Carrow waved his hand through the runespoor and it dissipated. “Try harder next time,” he advised, dropping into the bed on the other side of Scorpius. Lorcan was asleep on the bed beside him.

Carrow asked abruptly, “Do you think the Weasel bitch is giving it up for a bloke?”

Scorpius looked at him sharply before he could stop himself. Carrow was already staring at him. He rolled his eyes.

“Why would you think something like that?” Scorpius asked, tone bored. Carrow fluttered his fingers.

“Just little things here and there,” he said. “I saw her coming out of Room 117 earlier. She had the sweetest little love bite under her jaw last week. Seems like someone’s giving it to her pretty good.”

Lysander shook his head. “What a shame,” he said. “I’ll bet she fucks like a feral Kneazle.”

Scorpius turned his head. “Isn’t she basically your cousin?” he demanded.

He hadn’t been able to get the Weasley brat out of his head all day. He could still taste her sweetness in his mouth, even after he’d washed it out. Just thinking about how she’d looked on that table, legs spread, pussy swollen and shining with her wetness, made him hard in his trousers. And he’d been the first to taste her, to spread her open and fuck her with his tongue, to lap up her juices when she spasmed and came under his mouth.

“Basically,” Lysander said, “but not quite.”

“I’d tame her,” Carrow said. Scorpius gritted his teeth. “She’s the kind of witch that makes you just want to pin her down and listen to her cry, consequences be damned. She’s sex walking. All that hair? Just made to fist while she chokes on your prick.” He pantomimed just that, making Lysander laugh. Scorpius saw red.

The thought of Carrow fucking Weasley like that made him want to wring his neck.

He continued, “She’s got such an attitude about her, just like the rest of her bloody family.” He looked towards Scorpius, who sat quietly seething. He’d stopped casting Patronus charms.  “I bet she’d shut up with a cock in her mouth. Don’t you think?”

Scorpius ground out, “I think she’s the type to bite as soon as suck.”

Carrow chuckled. “I’d give her a better reason to cry if she tried any of that. She’d still be pretty enough with a split lip.”

Scorpius drew blood biting his tongue. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “I think it’s time for me to shower,” he said. “Unless you used all of the hot water?”

Carrow’s grin was menacing. “There’s plenty left for you, mate. Don’t know that I’ll be able to say the same for Weasley once I’ve finished with her.”

Carrow touching her was bad enough, but Carrow hurting her? _Scorpius_ felt feral. He’d be damned if he’d ever let the bastard get close enough to Weasley to speak to her, much less fuck her or force himself on her. He’d crack his skull. He’d curse him Unforgivably if he ever tried.

It wasn’t about Weasley, he told himself. It was about decency.

But perhaps a little voice at the back of his mind still whispered, _She’s mine. Not yours. Not anyone’s. Just mine._

⚯͛

Albus sat across from her as they studied again on the bank of the lake. It was the first time that they’d managed to spend any real solid time together since the very first week of school. “Well,” Albus said. “We’ve been in school what…” He paused. “Two months now, give or take a little?” Her cousin looked to her for confirmation and she nodded. “How’re you liking it?” 

She sighed. “It’s been fine, I guess,” she said, marking her page in her Astrology book and closing it.

She couldn’t shake what had happened with Malfoy in Room 117. His tone when he told her not to worry about getting him off, just to enjoy her afterglow. It didn’t sound sarcastic. It had sounded almost sincere. At least for Malfoy. But then he’d swept out of the room, leaving her alone, and any trace of humanity she’d thought she’d glimpsed had evaporated.    

“Fine?” Al asked. “You guess?” 

Rose shrugged. “Yeah,” she said, too simply. 

“How’re things with you and Malfoy?” Albus asked. 

At that question, she started. “What?” she asked, maybe too defensively. “What do you mean?” 

He chuckled. “By Godric, Rosie, what? I just wanted to know if he was giving you trouble.” He was laughing, but she could see the confusion in his eyes, too. The panic that had seized her chest released her and she blew out a breath. 

“Nothing’s going on,” she said, adrenaline making her muscles shake. “He’s a prat; you know how he is. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“The biggest of them,” her cousin agreed. “I’d feel a bit better if he dropped dead of unknown causes.” 

Maybe then she’d be able to escape the fever she felt whenever he looked at her. Maybe if he dropped dead, it would all go away. Then the guilt of lying to Al wouldn’t weigh so heavily on her chest. “I can’t say I disagree,” she said tiredly. Albus was already looking back at his book.

“You should go easy on yourself,” he said absently. “It’s too soon into the year to be overworking yourself.” 

“So, what’s going on with you, Al?” she asked, trying to salvage the conversation. 

“I asked Violetta on a date a couple days ago,” he said, still not meeting her eyes. “Since things went so well at the masquerade the other week.” He paused for a long moment, eyes darting up to hers. She could see how much he wanted her approval, probably even her enthusiasm. Things had been strained between them since that exact masquerade.

Just the memory of Malfoy’s face as that anonymous witch sucked him off was enough to send guilty shivers down her spine.

“And what did she say?” Rose prompted, forcing herself to sound eager.

Her cousin broke out into a modest grin. “Well, she said yes.”

“Al! That’s awesome!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him excitedly, then pulled him in for a hard hug. This time, her enthusiasm was genuine. He chuckled. His head rested atop her own, and it meant that he didn’t see when her expression faltered. 

“Have you got your eye on anybody yet?” asked her cousin. Rose shook her head. 

“No,” she said. It wasn’t really lie. “Nobody.” 

Albus frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I know Derrin seemed interested at the Hufflepuff party.”

“Yes, well, I think I’m taking a break from blokes this year.” She tried to make her voice appropriately light-hearted. He chuckled, scribbling something down on his notes. She watched as he absent-mindedly patted down his hair, only for it to pop back up again when he took his hand away from it. They sat on the bank until the sun went down and they were forced to return to the Common Room.   
  
  
The next morning in Charms, Rose sat down next to Malfoy and he flipped a piece of parchment onto her desk in front of her. Professor Flitwick was saying something at the front of the classroom but Rose paid him no heed. Instead, she unfolded the scrap of parchment and read it.

 _Grounds by the lake, tonight at ten?_

She pocketed the note in her robes, accidentally knocking her elbow against Malfoy’s. He looked over at her, smirk curling his lips as he grabbed one of her curls by the very end, so that the action was hidden from the rest of the class. He jerked on it much harder than could be called playful and Rose bit her lip at the pain-pleasure sensation. Then she straightened and pulled away.

Malfoy’s smirk turned into a grin. Rose wanted to wipe it off of his face. Professor Flitwick appeared rather occupied with the lecture that he was giving and Rose seized the opportunity. Malfoy was taking notes, his attention back on the lesson. Rose took a deep breath and slid her hand underneath the desk until it rested on his knee. He stiffened immediately, scowling over at her, but she didn’t look at him. She continued watching the Professor as if she was doing nothing out of the ordinary, keeping her expression carefully casual.

 _This is going to be so much fun._

Right now, Rose had the upper hand: she knew it, and reveled in it. She had Scorpius Malfoy completely under her thumb.

It gave her a sadistic sort of pleasure.

She left her hand on his knee until he looked away from her and relaxed. Then she slid it up just a little further, so that it rested a few inches above his knee. Malfoy went rigid again, but relaxed much quicker than the last time and didn’t look at her. Gently, she kneaded his thigh. It was firm; she could feel the definition of each muscle, and the way he shook, just barely, as she touched him. _Good_ . She wanted him hard as steel, desperate, before she stroked him. 

Her own panties dampened at the thought.

She rubbed and kneaded his thigh until she heard his quiet panting and knew he needed her to touch him. After a minute of listening, making him wait for it as he’d made her wait in the classroom, Rose slid her hand up until she could cup him in her palm through his trousers. And then she did. 

He hissed as if in pain and Professor Flitwick—along with the rest of the Charms class—looked over at him. “Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked. 

“No, sir,” the boy beside her choked out. 

His voice was strained and color stained his cheeks. Rose snuck a glance at Albus. Her cousin glared at Malfoy as though he wanted to reach into the boy’s head and pull out his eyeballs. Flitwick examined Malfoy and Rose purposefully flexed her hand and rubbed him as though she were jerking him off. Malfoy slammed his fist down on the desk and made a sound like he was swallowing his tongue. Professor Flitwick’s eyes sharpened. 

“Mr. Malfoy, do you need to go to the hospital wing?” 

Rose started undoing his trousers with one hand. 

“N-no, Professor,” Malfoy said, clenching his jaw. His eyes were fiery.

Rose pressed her lips together to smother a giggle. She undid his trousers and now worked her hand past his briefs. She could feel the thick length of him. He was so hot that she swore he could have burned her. Wrapping her hand around him, she gave his cock a few short strokes. She watched Malfoy, his color burning high, lay his face down into his arms as Professor Flitwick turned back towards the board. 

Rose stroked the head of his cock, rubbing the precum over her hand as lube. It wasn’t the first handjob she’d given, but she’d definitely never enjoyed one this much. There was something feverishly arousing about watching Malfoy’s control crumple in on itself and knowing that she was the one with that power to do that to him. 

There was also something wonderful about jacking him off because she wanted to, not as a diversion or replacement for sex. She’d had to do that with her boyfriends—rub them off so that they would stop demanding sex for a while. 

As she rubbed her hand up and down the length of his cock, she imagined what it would be like to have him in her mouth. 

She really wanted to suck him off.

With his head buried in his arms, Malfoy continued to make panting sounds that grew alarmingly loud. Rose stopped her ministrations and bent towards him as if reading off of his notes. 

“Be quiet or I stop,” she whispered, squeezing his member. 

He groaned quietly and nodded into his arms. No sarcastic quip or self-satisfied smirk. Satisfied, Rose leaned away from him again and picked up her stroking at a quicker pace. He seemed to grow harder in her hand; she hadn’t even known that was possible. Suddenly, Malfoy sat up, and he grabbed her wrist under the table, halting her. 

“You have to stop now,” he breathed, barely speaking at all. 

Rose smirked. “No,” she whispered, and squeezed his cock again. 

His mouth fell open but he quickly closed it, releasing her to grab the table edge in front of him. She could see his knuckles go white as his jaw clenched. Trying to suppress her smile, she stroked faster until she felt his body go so stiff she was afraid that he’d break apart. Then a sticky warmth spread over her hand and she almost melted into her chair. 

She’d made him come.

Malfoy had his eyes closed and was clearly trying to level his breathing. “Bloody hell, Weasley,” he whispered. His face was redder than normal. 

“We need a Cleaning Charm,” she whispered back to him, playfulness in her voice, trying to let him know that she wasn‘t angry with him. 

He dug his wand out of his robes with, she noted, a delightfully shaky hand. Whispering the incantation, he pointed at the crotch of his pants and swung his wand. Once her hand was cleaned, she pulled it out from under the desk.

“Now, I want you all comparing notes in class tomorrow!” Professor Flitwick called, wrapping up his lecture with a, “This will be on your next test!” 

Rose was suddenly grateful that Malfoy came when he did. She started shoving all of her materials into her bag. 

“Are we on for tonight?” Malfoy asked. 

She glanced back at him. The class was chattering around them, giving them the perfect cover to talk to one another. 

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?” she asked, and he looked so un-Malfoy-like that she allowed herself to smile at him. 

She wondered if he was embarrassed for coming on her. 

“Just checking,” he said and slung his bag over his shoulder. 

“See you at ten,” she said as he walked away. She was only alone a second before Albus popped up beside her, Lily Luna behind him. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. 

Lily was sending Rose a strange, calculating look that Rose didn’t particularly enjoy.  Like she was trying to figure something out, and Rose had something very important that she did not want her cousins to find or figure out. 

“Sure,” she said, brushing it off and standing up. 


	8. Chapter 8

She felt sick with nerves the rest of the day. She couldn’t stop seeing his face after he came in her hand: his cheeks slightly flushed, his lips bitten. For a moment, he’d seemed like just a boy, not a Malfoy or Slytherin royalty or a total, complete bastard. He’d seemed almost like someone she could know.

Her cousins couldn’t hold her interest, but Rose sat on the couch in front of the fire and scribbled with her quill on her essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hugo kept asking what was bothering her and there was no way that Rose was going to tell him that she was so distracted because she couldn’t wait for ten o’clock to roll around so that she could shag Scorpius Malfoy, object Potter and Weasley contempt alike.

Her thighs clenched and unclenched at the thought of his mouth. Her lips felt swollen already, her skin sensitized. Something almost like excitement built in her chest and she pushed it back down. When nine forty-five rolled around, she excused herself discreetly, brushing off her cousins’ questions. 

“You and Lily Luna,” Roxanne called after her as Rose shut the Common Room door. “Must be something in the water.”

Rose didn’t pay attention. She slipped carefully down the stairs and out of the castle. Thankfully, Filch didn’t seem to be afoot and she had missed the Gryffindor prefects’ first rounds. They would be coming back by eleven, giving her what she hoped was just enough time.

Moonlight glittered prettily on the lake, and Rose assumed the Giant Squid was asleep. There were no waves or ripples on the surface of the water. A tall silhouette with silver hair stood on the far edge of the lake, half-hidden in the shadows. Waiting for her, even though she was still a few minutes early. She walked around the edge of the lake, placing her feet purposefully so as not to trip over any logs or branches in the dark.

As she approached, Malfoy backed up until he stood just on the inside of the forest, where it was the darkest. Rose was not afraid of the Forest. Panting lightly from the walk, she reached up and grabbed his jaw to pull him down for a kiss.

His lips were cold against hers, chilled from the November air, but his tongue was hot as it pressed into her mouth. He groaned, so quietly that it was barely audible, but she heard it. Her belly clenched and she tugged on the waistband of his trousers. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled them both deeper into the Forbidden Forest. She yanked harder at his belt as the darkness swallowed them up.

She kept tugging at him until they were on the forest floor. Malfoy fell on top of her and she rolled them over so that she straddled his waist. His cock was hard already, pressing against his zipper, and her cunt ached to the point of pain. Her red hair fell around them both and she whimpered as he nipped at her lower lip, leaving behind a stinging pain. 

“You’re early,” Malfoy panted. 

She paused to draw in a breath and met his stare. His eyes were liquid mercury. She rolled her hips on his and moaned, eyes never leaving his face.

“Eager again tonight, Weasley?” he growled, fisting a hand in her hair and jerking her head back so that he could plunder her mouth. “Huh?”

“Sod off,” Rose said against his mouth.

He laughed low in his chest. She felt the vibration of it. Quickly, she pulled away from him and sat up, pushing her robes off of herself. She felt suddenly too hot despite the chill. “I still hate you,” she said. She wanted him to know it. She pulled her jumper over her head. 

“The feeling is decidedly mutual,” he told her, reaching for the buttons of her undershirt.

Then he gripped her by the lapels and flipped her underneath him. She cried out softly, whimpered when he pressed his erection between her legs. He was heavy and solid atop her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her clit against the ridge of his cock. He hissed through his teeth and thrust forward. Rose threw her head back and sunk her nails into his shoulders.

She was so wet, she felt the crotch of her knickers clinging to her. Malfoy noticed it as well. He pulled back from her, peering down at the front of his trousers. A stain spread across his zipper, wet from her arousal.

Anger and something else shone in his eyes. “Well,” he said, “look at what you’ve done.”

Hesitantly, her gaze slid down to where his erection strained against his zipper. She bit her lip and looked back up at him. A helpless desire burned in her eyes.

He rolled her under himself, pinning her to the ground.

Scorpius thought of Carrow. _She’s the kind of witch that makes you just want to pin her down and listen to her cry, consequences be damned_. And Scorpius _could_. Weasley would let him, and she would love it.

She wouldn’t if Carrow pinned her down and fucked her. But Scorpius could shag her however he wanted and she’d beg for more. He could see it on her face and the knowledge went straight to his cock.

Her effect on him enraged him.

Eyes on hers, he flipped her over and grabbed her hips, yanking them back against his own. He leaned down to whisper in her ear: “I think you should be punished. Don’t you, Weasel?”

Scorpius fisted his hand in her hair, pinning her to the pine needles beneath them. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. It made his cock rock hard in his slacks.

Rose Weasley, spread out underneath him on the floor of the Forbidden Forest like a common hedgewhore.

What a _sight_.

“You’ve ruined my good trousers,” he said. “Can’t just let that go. Can I?”

Slowly, Weasley shook her head.

“I didn’t think so either.”

He felt the tension in her body under him as she waited to see what he would do. Spank her, maybe. He could almost hear her thoughts. But that wasn’t what Scorpius wanted.

He flipped her skirt up and yanked her panties down. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and a growl vibrated his chest. She sunk down again, almost cowering, and he smiled.

“Good girl,” he told her without thinking.

Her pussy was bared to him and the night air. She shivered and he smoothed a hand down her flank. One hand on her hip, he teased the wet lips of her cunt with his fingertips.

“Malfoy,” she whispered.

He said nothing. He traced a finger down her thigh, where her wetness ran down to her knee. The waiting would eat her alive, and he wanted it to. He slid his hand up her back from her hip to fist her hair. It was tangled with pine needles and shreds of fallen leaves.

He pressed a kiss to her lower back, then sunk his teeth into the flesh of her arse. She jerked and yelped, struggling against him, but he kept a harsh hold on the roots of her hair. “ _Malfoy_!”

Had anything ever sounded so good?

The bite mark was red and inflamed when he released her. If he’d bit any harder, he might have broken skin. Her thighs shook with adrenaline and he suppressed a groan. Her inner thighs glistened with juices; for all her protests, she was enjoying it.

“So slutty,” he said, and forced two fingers all the way into her cunt. _For Salazar’s sake_. She was so tight it was a miracle she could take his fingers at all, much less his cock. He heard her suppressed sob as he fucked her quickly, forcefully.

Her cunt was so slick he could hear every time he forced his fingers into her. “Listen to how wet you are for me,” he whispered. He jerked her head back and pressed an open-mouthed kiss under her jaw. “My little whore.”

“You—” _Squelch_. “Bloody—” _Squelch_. “Prat.”

He yanked his fingers out and she gasped. “Don’t talk back, Weasel.” He snapped his teeth near her ear.

With a finger still wet from her pussy, Scorpius traced her tiny, pink ass. Her head dropped down and she took a shuddering breath. She whined as he pushed inside of her, clenching around his finger. He imagined that it was his dick she clenched around instead and groaned. She was tight as a fist.

“No one’s ever taken you here,” he said. He didn’t bother phrasing it as a question. “And now I’m going to.” He worked in and out of her ass, stretching her slowly. “And you’re going to _love_ it.”

She murmured something. “What was that?” he demanded.

“Please,” Weasley repeated, voice small.

“Oh? Please what?”

She sobbed when he twisted his hand and pushed his other finger past the tight ring of muscle. “ _Please_!”

He fucked her faster now as she adjusted. His cock throbbed and ached. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. It took all of his control not to shove her belly-first into the dirt and force his cock into her ass, _consequences be damned_. But he wanted her to beg for it, to love it when he finally fucked her tight little arse on the ground.

“Please fuck you?” Scorpius demanded. “Please stretch you out, till this pretty pink arse fits only my cock? Is that what you want, Weasley?” She didn’t answer and he ground his teeth. “ _Answer me, whore._ ”

“Yes!” she gasped out. “Yes, Malfoy, goddamn you. Please.”

He grinned and pulled his fingers from her. Her arse was red and shining with the wetness he’d spread there. She looked used and he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

 _Mine mine mine_.

He shoved into her cunt, using his grip on her hair to force her face to the ground. He thrust into her hard and fast, slicking up his cock. Then just as abruptly as he’d taken her, he slid back out. He pressed the head of his dick against her arse, rubbing gently. She shook like a leaf, her skin hot to the touch.

“I’m going to fuck this arse now,” he growled.

She whimpered, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He worked his cock into her arse, feeling her stretch around him. It was a lewd sight, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away; her arse was red with use and he felt her quivering around him. She made a pained sound and he laid his cheek on her shoulder.

“Relax,” he commanded. “Loosen up, Weasley; it’ll feel better if you relax.”

He felt her unclench marginally and he turned his mouth into her shoulder blade. “That’s my good whore,” he murmured. He held himself still as she adjusted. He felt her shuddering breaths.

He braced himself with one hand, twigs and stones digging into his palm, and reached under her with the other. She was so wet that it was difficult to keep his fingers on her clit, but she moaned when he stroked her.

“Yes,” she gasped. “By Godric, Malfoy, I’m so full.”

His cock jerked in her arse.

“Fuck,” he spat, and thrust helplessly deeper. “When you talk like that…”

“What about when I ask you to fuck me till I’m raw and aching?” Weasley asked, her voice strained. She pushed her hips back, forcing herself down on his cock. “Till your cum leaks out of me?”

Scorpius snarled and buried himself to the hilt.

She moaned and it was all he could hear. He pressed harder against her clit. “I’m so close,” she panted. “ _Please_ , Malfoy.”

“Yes.” He felt mindless with need. “Come for me. Come for me while I fill you up.”

Weasley writhed and rolled her hips and he couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He thrust into her as harder as he could, burying himself inside of her over and over again. Then he felt her clench around him and he bit down on her shoulder, uncaring of gentleness. She wailed and collapsed, bringing him down on top of her.      

⚯͛          

Unbeknownst to them, Lily Luna took quite an interest in the fiery- and icy-haired couple half-hidden by the trees of the Forbidden Forest. She watched from the opposite bank and she tried to convince herself that there was no way that her cousin, who had hated Scorpius Malfoy from the very day she first saw him, would be collapsed under him by the lake.

Discomforted, she turned away to resume her walk, reminding herself that there were surely other redheads at Hogwarts who might want to shag Malfoy. 


	9. Chapter 9

Albus said, “There’s a party in the Slytherin Common Room tonight.”

Rose looked up from her paper. “A Slytherin party? Did  _ you  _ want to go to a Slytherin party?” 

His cheeks burned with color and he dipped his chin. “Violeta might be there, too,” he muttered and Rose smirked. 

“So I see,” she said, “you’re inviting me as your back-up date.”

“Rosie, you’re not my back-up anything!” he protested, looking offended. “I thought you could come be my...back-up. But not in that way! Like my wingman, my advisor. Oh, bloody hell, you know what I mean.”

She laughed. “I know what you mean. I’ll be there.”

“You will be?”   


She wrinkled her nose. “You asked me to come, didn’t you? You know I’ll show up for you, Al.” She didn’t mention if part of her reasoning was that she owed him for all of the lying she was doing lately. Even now, she avoided shedding her robes around him, so that he didn’t catch a glimpse of the bruised bite mark Malfoy had left on her shoulder a few days prior. 

“You’re the best,” he told her, and she shifted guiltily in the armchair. 

 

Everyone in the Slytherin Common Room was already drunk by the time Rose and Albus arrived. She had never been to the Common Room before. “How will we get in?” she asked Al as they walked down the dark corridor. It smelled like wet stone. “Isn’t it passworded?” 

He looked over at her. “I know the password,” he said, and she flushed. 

Of course. It was just that she forgot sometimes. 

He wasn’t looking at her now; he gazed across the room at Violeta, who blushed prettily and avoided his eyes. “Do you think she’s going to avoid me all night?” he asked Rose. 

She rolled her eyes. “She’s playing coy, you dolt!” she told him. “Why don’t you quit staring and go talk to her?”

“You think I should?”

“Yes!”

But then Rose was alone, holding a half-full goblet of red currant rum. None of her other cousins had come, each giving a different excuse. For Al’s sake, she was glad she accepted his invitation, but privately, she was miserable. She took a deep drink of her rum. 

Her almost-cousin, Lorcan Scamander, lounged on one of the wide velvet couches, looking drowsy and bored with the girl at his side. Lysander hovered a few feet away, hand on the hip of a blonde witch. She had not expected them to speak to her—they rarely socialized outside of holidays—but she found herself wishing that they would. She was out of her depth here. 

She also found herself scanning the crowd for a silver-headed wizard, but stopped herself as soon as she realized. 

Marcus Carrow was nowhere in sight as well. He gave her the jitters, and not in a good way. Especially after the incident in the corridor after September’s Quidditch match. She felt sure it was him who had touched her. She hoped he wasn’t here at all tonight, and that instead he was asleep in his bed, far away from her. 

She sipped on her drink and wished she hadn’t come. 

“Looking a little lonely,” drawled a voice to her left.  _ Zabini.  _

“Oh, sod off,” Rose spat. The rum thickened her tongue. 

He laughed. “It’s  _ my _ party, Weasley. If you don’t like it, perhaps you ought to.” 

She glanced over at Al. He was smiling down at Violetta while she laughed. Could she leave, now that he seemed to have what he came for? Or would he look for her to find her disappeared? She scowled at Zabini. 

“I was invited,” she said. “You have no right to tell me to leave.”

“Ditto,” he replied easily. 

She looked at Al again and when she turned to glare at Zabini, he was gone. Appearing only to unnerve her before evaporating into shadow.  _ Typical Slytherin.  _ She didn’t know how Al could stand living with them, day in and day out, and her heart stung for him. She drained the last of her currant rum and stared down into her goblet, imagining it refilling. 

Already, her head felt muddled, her belly warmer than before. She’d heard the rum in her voice as she told off Zabini. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she walked towards the center of the Common Room. Tall bottles of liquor stood on the mantle like straight-backed soldiers. She stood on her toes and reached for the crystal bottle of red currant rum. It sloshed and teetered as she grabbed at it. 

“Need help?” 

Carrow’s voice was like the hiss of a snake, cold and slick as it slid down her spine. She shuddered and refused to look at him. “I’m fine,” she snapped, but he was already stretching above her, snatching the bottle of rum easily. He handed it to her. 

His dark eyes shone in the shifting light. It reflected off the edge of his jaw, making his face all planes and angles, all softness erased. He was handsome, in the way that a hawk closing in on prey might be called handsome. It stirred nothing inside of her. 

Not as Malfoy did. 

“Thank you,” she forced out. 

“Need an extra hand while you pour?” he offered. 

Rose didn’t even want his hands on the same hemisphere as her. “I can manage well enough,” she said simply. 

She unscrewed the top of the bottle and awkwardly filled her goblet. He watched her steadily the whole time. She focused on the rum. She wanted him gone. His gaze made the back of her neck prickle. As she recapped the bottle, he took it from her and set it back atop the mantle. “Thanks,” Rose muttered. 

She took a long drink of rum. It was cloyingly sweet and burned the back of her throat. She looked out over the crowd, people mingling through writhing bodies. Low bass trembled over the room, setting her teeth on edge. No pale blond hair stood out above the knot of students. She didn’t name her disappointment, but it was there. 

“Looking for someone?” Carrow asked, the slightest edge in his voice. 

Rose looked at him carefully. “My cousin,” she told him. “In fact, I really should be finding him.” 

_ I really should be getting away from you.  _

“Understandable,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Tell him I said hello.” 

Rose carried her goblet away, his eyes weighing heavily on her shoulders until she pushed herself deep into the crowd. She felt like she needed a shower. She definitely didn’t want to see Albus and ruin his fun. Instead, she wandered the edges of the wide Common Room, hoping for a nook or disguised corridor to tuck herself into. As it turned out, there were plenty of shadows corners and shallow corridors, and almost all of them were occupied. 

Déjà-vu struck Rose. Here was a pale-haired boy, but this time, no witch knelt before him. Instead, he braced his hands on either side of her head, pinning her against the wall. His back was to Rose. The ground swayed under her feet. 

She must have made a sound because Malfoy looked over his shoulder at her. One of the witch’s legs hooked around his waist, keeping him trapped against her. 

“Well, Weasley,” he said, “how nice of you to attend our little party. Care to join?” 

His eyes were glossy with drink and she could smell the firewhiskey from where she stood. His hair fell distractingly over his forehead, giving him a just-tumbled look. 

It soured her stomach. 

“I would not,” she said primly. The witch against the wall muttered something to him and he grinned. 

“Seems we keep ending up in these situations,” he said. “Maybe it's a sign.” 

But she was already turning away. Nausea rolled in her belly; for a terrifying second, she thought she might vomit up all of her liquor. She found herself suddenly angry. 

“Weasley, you look ruffled,” Carrow said. He laid a hand on her elbow. “What’s the problem?” His voice betrayed no concern, contrary to his words. 

“Marcus Carrow,” Rose said, deadpan. “Just the bloke I wanted to see.” She heard the slur in her own voice. She raised the goblet to her lips to distract herself. Marcus Carrow. Just what she needed. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, and Rose waved him off. 

“Nothing’s the matter.” She thought of the golden leg hooked around Malfoy’s slim waist. She said, “I’ve just suddenly found myself awfully sloshed and regretfully alone.” 

Carrow’s eyes gleamed. “Is that your problem?” He leaned down towards her, the hand at her elbow tightening. “I believe we can fix that.” 

Rose hated him so much, but she hated Scorpius bloody Malfoy more. 

She let him slide his hand up her arm, to her shoulder, into her hair. He pushed her back against a tapestry, the thick weave rough on her shoulders. His mouth came down over hers, and he tasted like firewhiskey. 

She could almost pretend he was Malfoy. 

The thought only made her angrier and she threw herself against Carrow. He bit down on her lip and she tasted blood now, not firewhiskey. She’d never been so glad. His hands were rough at her waist, pawing at her. She shut her eyes tight. Her head spun. He crushed her against the wall and she whimpered in pain. 

“Too hard,” she said, pulling her mouth from his. 

He ignored her. One of his hands rubbed over her hip, then cupped her arse. His fingers dug into her flesh and she winced. It hurt. He did nothing to rub away the sting.  _ Like Malfoy would have,  _ her brain said. She shook it off. She felt the length of his erection where it pressed into her belly, an uncomfortable prodding. She wriggled to shift the angle and he seemed to take it as enthusiasm. 

Carrow shoved her harder and her shoulder blades ground into the stone through the tapestry. “Ow!” She pushed at his chest but he just dragged his mouth down her neck. “Carrow, quit it—”

“Marcus,” a deep voice snapped. 

Rose shivered. 

Carrow hesitated a moment, looking down at her. Then he released her and took a step back. She wavered, unsteady without him holding her up. Her back hurt where he’d pressed her into the stone. She felt as though she’d been swept up in a tornado, then abruptly dropped back onto the ground.

Malfoy stood a few feet away from them, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t look angry, not exactly, but something predatory emanated from him. He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. 

She wanted him to look at her like that. 

“Scorpius,” Carrow drawled. “So nice to see you, as usual.” He tucked his rumpled shirt into his slacks. “Finished with your toy?” 

Rose put a hand on the wall behind her to stop the swaying. It took her a second to realize he was referring to the witch Malfoy had been with. He said, “You know I can’t resist a damsel in distress.” 

It took her second to realize he was referring to her. 

“Oh, bugger off, Malfoy,” she spat. 

She pushed off the wall and lurched past him. She couldn’t breathe with all the people around. Her shoulder ached where Carrow ground her into the wall. Malfoy reached out a hand to stop her but she shrugged him off. Carrow shouted something, and she heard Malfoy shout back, his tone much angrier. Her lip throbbed from Carrow’s teeth, an unwelcome reminder. 

She shoved her way out of the Slytherin Common Room, into the cool din of the dungeon corridors. She stumbled and righted herself quickly. Her stomach still turned; she couldn’t shake the image of Malfoy with that witch wrapped around him. 

“ _ Rose _ .” A wide hand seized her shoulder and brought her to a halt. 

He truly reeked of liquor. She couldn’t imagine how much he must have drank to smell like that. She tried to brush off his hand but he held tight. “Let me go, Malfoy,” she demanded. “Don’t follow me.” 

“ _ Carrow _ ?” His hair fell wildly around his face, his fair cheeks flushed with rage and alcohol. He looked like a faery—slim and beautiful and untouchable. “Were you going to shag him?”

“It would be none of your business if I did!” 

He shoved his face in hers and the stench of firewhiskey was unbearable. “It’s only my business,” he growled. 

Rose felt a scream building up in her throat, or possibly vomit. “I saw you with that slag,” she hissed. “Clearly, what we do is none of the other’s business. Now, let. Me. Go.” 

He released her, scoffing. “ _ Clearly _ . You don’t know me. You don’t know why I do what I do. And you don’t have a clue what Carrow is. If you did, you’d be washing your mouth out with soap.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Rose said. “Or maybe you're wrong. What would you know?” 

Then she turned on her heel and marched away, steadily as she could.  

He let her go.     



	10. Chapter 10

Scorpius woke up the next morning with a gnome banging around inside his skull. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. Scraps of the previous night drifted around his head. He shut his eyes tight. Then leaned over the side of the bed and vomited.

“Top o’ the morning to you,” Lysander said, peering over the edge of his own bed.

“Sod off,” he groaned. Lysander cast a Cleaning Charm on the floor. Scorpius’s stomach still roiled and he flopped back onto his bed. “I need a pain potion,” he said. “My head.”

Lysander said, “Lorcan might have one or two for his migraines. If you want one.”

“Please.”

Scorpius was relieved to find Carrow nowhere in sight. He thought he might murder him. He’d wanted to last night.

Despite his inebriation, he recalled the site of him pressed against Weasley perfectly—the half-frightened way she’d struggled, how the low light caught on her bright hair, her swollen lips as she staggered forward. Her mouth was reddened not from his kisses, but from Carrow’s, and it infuriated him.

He’d wanted to murder him last night, but he hadn’t.

Nothing went how he wanted it to. Not the witch, not Weasley, certainly not Weasley and _Carrow_.

He couldn’t get her out of his head, even when she wasn’t around. He thought about her every single time he came into his own hand. He looked for her during mealtimes. He was thinking about her _now_. She drove him insane and he couldn’t take it anymore. So he sought out that sixth year witch.

Then of course Weasley had shown up anyway to ruin it. He couldn’t bloody escape her.

He almost didn’t want to.

Lysander dropped a pain potion onto his chest and Scorpius cupped it to his sternum. “Thanks, mate,” he said.

It burned his throat on the way down. Moments later, the throbbing in his head eased, but it did nothing to soothe the nausea.

Lysander pulled on a pair of slacks. “You’re going to miss breakfast,” he said. “Everyone else is already gone. I even got Lorcan up, if you’ll believe it.”

“I don’t believe it and I’m not going.” He felt his gorge rise at the thought of eating.

Perhaps he also didn’t want to see Weasley. Who was to say.

⚯͛

Rose picked at her breakfast plate. On it sat half of a bagel, a single link of sausage, and a strawberry for “the full food pyramid”, as Hugo said. So far she’d only nibbled the strawberry. Anything else made her stomach riot. She’d already vomited once this morning. She wondered if Malfoy was even still alive. With the amount of alcohol she’d smelled on him the night before, she wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’d died of alcohol poisoning.

She felt as if _she_ were dying.

Unfortunately, Marcus Carrow was very much alive. He sat across the Great Hall, eyes shifting occasionally to her. Rose wished she could Disapparate to Africa. Or melt into the floor. The memory of his mouth on hers, his body shoving hers into the wall, made her unpleasantly lightheaded. She took another small bite of the strawberry, but it tasted ashy. She set it down.

“Went a little too hard on the firewhiskey last night?” Lily Luna asked.

“It was currant rum,” Rose snapped, and Hugo raised an eyebrow.

More than Carrow’s phantom touch, it was Malfoy’s rage that still disturbed her. He’d never looked at her like that. Of course he’d hated her before, but they’d hated each other like schoolchildren. Now, it felt less as if he hated her as a childhood adversary and more as though he hated her for being _her_. It made something inside of her curl and wither.  

Rose didn’t think about the way her stomach flipped when she saw that witch wrapped around his waist.

She reached over the table to grab a piece of dry toast but accidentally met Carrow’s eye as she raised her gaze. She shuddered and looked away. Malfoy had never made her feel this way, and she was all the more relieved that he wasn’t here to witness Carrow’s staring.

Afraid to draw the attention of her family, Rose forced her shoulders to relax and blew out a long breath. She bit into the dry toast and chewed it mechanically. More than anything, she wanted to return to her dorm and collapse back into bed. She felt Carrow’s eyes on her still, as if waiting for her to look back up at him. She took another pointed bite of toast and smiled blandly at something Hugo said.

She wanted today to be over already.

 

Sadly, Malfoy _did_ show his face in Charms later that afternoon. He didn’t even glance at her when he sat down. Not that she was watching him.

But she did notice the purple marks on the side of his neck and under his jaw, and the stray scratch at the back of his neck when he bent his head low over his parchment. She clenched her fingers tighter around her quill, and surreptitiously mopped up the splatter when the nib skipped over the parchment. She still felt ill.

She wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say. She didn’t owe him anything, and he didn’t owe her anything. Perhaps she had been too lenient with herself, not vigilant enough. Malfoy was exactly the same as he had always been. So was she. They were nothing different to one another now than they had been the school year before. If she forgot that, she told herself, then it was no one’s fault but her own.

Yet it still set her teeth on edge to see him sitting there, taking notes as if she wasn’t there at all, looking not the least bit hungover.

_Sodding Malfoy._

She resented herself and him alike for how much she still wanted him.

Even looking at him like that stirred something in her. She imagined that it was her legs around his hips, her mouth that left those marks on his jaw. Thinking of him that way aroused her, without a touch or a look. He didn’t need to do one single thing to her but exist, and she hated him for it.

When the class dismissed, she collected her materials quickly and left. There was no reason to be in class today; she was at the top of her class, and not going to lose her spot over one day of half-hearted attendance. If anyone questioned her, she’d tell them the truth: She didn’t feel well.

She fumed as she walked back into her dorm, school bag at her side. _That bloody tosser_. Her mind tossed with memories of his soft touches and his heat and the feeling of him moving inside her and it only made her angrier.

She kicked her wet knickers down her legs and tossed them into her dirty clothes’ bag. They’d need a Cleaning Charm before they were laundered.

Then she thought about burning them instead.

Resentfully, she left them intact and climbed into bed, wearing just her jumper. She ached between her legs. She had no intention to touch herself, but somehow, it still happened. She hadn’t put on new knickers when she’d shed her skirt and wet undergarments.

She slid a finger into her pussy, wet heat making her shiver. Then she worked in another, the stretch and burn exactly what she wanted. Her left hand teased her clit and she squeezed her eyes shut. She imagined that it was Malfoy’s cock, not her fingers, that stretched her as she struggled. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel his hands sinking into the bed on either side of her head as he held himself above her.

The sheets slid against her thighs as she writhed, curling her fingers into that sensitive spot inside of her. She bit her lip to hold back a whimper. If Malfoy was here, he would growl at her, probably force his wet fingers into her mouth and make her clean them for him. Then he’d flip her over into her belly and plow into her from behind.

She gasped and scrambled onto her belly, pushing her fingers back into herself from behind. With every thrust of her hand, wetness ran down her leg. Her cheeks heated, but it only made her wetter. He would laugh at her for it; she could almost hear the deep timbre of his voice as he taunted her. She could almost hear it. Almost…

She came to the half-remembered sound of his voice and her own fingers working herself, and smothered her whimpers and cries in the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently had to re-plot the rest of the chapters to account better for pacing, per my (lovely) beta readers. So that’s why there was a delay on these ones for last week. 
> 
> Once again, comments, feedback, and kudos are always so appreciated! Everyone’s who’s interacted with this fic has made me literally so happy. Thank you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters of smut coming because the third is gonna be short but plot-heavy and smutless. This fic ended up having much more plot than I intended, as it turns out.

Marcus Carrow materialized from the shadows behind him. Scorpius gave no indication that he was startled; he had learned firsthand that the second Carrow caught a whiff of weakness, he exploited it ruthlessly. It was the only reason he’d pursued Weasley. 

He just didn’t know why she had decided she wanted Carrow back. 

“Carrow,” he said. He straightened the lapels of his robe in the lavatory mirror. Behind him, the other boy lurked like an unwanted ghost. 

“Mr. Malfoy.” 

Carrow grinned. His robes were askew, the lapels open, his tie missing. A red love bite stood out at the hollow of his throat. From Weasley? Or was it from someone else, and Carrow only intended him to think it was from his red-headed witch? 

It was exactly the sort of game that he would play. 

Scorpius straightened his tie pointedly as he turned. “Can I help you?” he asked. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was the power of politeness over your enemies.

“Am I not allowed to use the blokes’ lavatory?” Carrow returned, one dark eyebrow arched. He restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Carrow found the upper hand once, and now he believed he would have it forever. It was a fool’s assumption. 

“You’re more than welcome to,” Scorpius said. “I was just on my way to Charms.” 

“Ah. And to that Weasel witch, yes?” 

Scorpius kept his face carefully blank, his brow neutral, his mouth half-curved. He disliked the look on Carrow’s face—he knew he’d put Scorpius in a stalemate, with no response he could give that didn’t trap himself into a corner. So he said nothing. 

Somewhere along the way, Carrow had found a weakness that even Scorpius hadn’t known he had. And now he would shake and tear at it like a hunting hound with game prey. Scorpius only encouraged him by struggling. 

Carrow continued, “You wouldn’t believe what it’s like once you’ve wet your tongue with her. She’s just as sweet as I imagined.” His eyes were sharp as a raptor’s, glittering black. Scorpius ground his teeth. 

“Surely you can’t expect me to have just one taste? She’s  _ addictively  _ sweet.” He watched Scorpius, challenging. His smile was slow and languid. “But then, I imagine you knew that.” 

Though it ground at his pride, he stayed silent. He kept his hands loose and his arms casually crossed and imagined driving his fist over and over again into Carrow’s nose, until he heard the  _ crack-pop _ of broken cartilage and felt his hot blood against his knuckles. He fantasized about pounding his teeth back into his throat until he choked and finally stopped running his mouth. 

Carrow clapped his hand against his shoulder and Scorpius withheld a snarl. “It was good chatting with you, mate,” Carrow said. “Have fun in Charms. Tell the Weasley brat that I say hello.”

 

She kept her head low over her parchment, red curls hanging like a curtain between them. It sparked a fury in him. He wanted to seize her by her hair and shove her face into the desk, rip off her panties and pound into her until she cried for him to let her finish. But he wouldn’t. He’d hold her hands behind her back so she couldn’t touch herself. He would force her to beg him but even then, he wouldn’t relent. 

She’d sniffle and apologize and promise to never touch Carrow again. No one would make her cry like that but Scorpius. 

_ Tell the Weasel brat that I say hello.  _

She belonged to him.  _ He _ was the one she let pin her down in the pine needles and dirt and fuck her arse.  _ He _ was the one she let strip and humiliate her.  _ He  _ was the first to spread her open and tongue her cunt. She didn’t look at Carrow the way she looked at him, and she could pretend she wasn’t his, but it would always be a lie. 

He ran a palm over her knee and she flinched. He held back a smile. Weasley cast him a stern look.  _ Stop,  _ she mouthed. 

Her robes were folded over her lap, but he parted them to touch the soft skin of her knee. Her cheeks pinkened as his hand slid higher. He fingered the hem of her skirt, watching her breath hitch in anticipation. He pinched her thigh gently and she started. “Malfoy,” she hissed. “ _ Quit _ .” But she didn’t move or try to bat his hand away. She didn’t struggle to stop him as she had with Carrow. 

His cock was already throbbing in his trousers. 

Scorpius brushed his knuckles against the crotch of her knickers, already damp with her arousal. She bit her lip and her thighs opened marginally; an unwilling submission. She watched their classmates surreptitiously. He pressed his thumb against her clit and her legs shook. He drug a finger through her covered slit—her wetness soaked through her knickers now, after just a few teasing touches. 

“So responsive,” he murmured. The drone of Flitwick’s lecture covered his words. 

“I despise you,” she replied tightly. 

He hummed. “But you  _ love _ this.”

Weasley said nothing. 

He slid two fingers under the gusset of her knickers and tugged them to the side. His cock ached at the thought of her so exposed. If someone knelt down in front of their desk and peeked underneath, they would see her parted thighs and the glistening, pink folds of her pussy. They’d see the way she coated his thumb as he dragged it through her covered slit, teasing her clit. 

Perhaps one day he’d do it: put her on display for him. Let other people watch as he spread her open and forced himself inside of her. She’d probably love it. She was a natural voyeur; he would stack Galleons on her being an exhibitionist as well. 

She looked at him and her golden eyes were wide and desperate. “Please,” she said lowly. “More.” 

He smiled. “Since you asked nicely, Weasley.”

He pressed down on her clit and rubbed. She let out a little sigh and sunk her teeth into her lower lip. Her hair fell back in front of her head as she looked down at her notes again, but beneath the desk, her hips canted. 

He couldn’t get enough.  _ Addictive,  _ Carrow called her and he was right as much as it made the back of Scorpius’s throat burn. He’d craved her before he’d ever had her—when she was just a fantasy he thought of in the dark—but now that he knew how she felt wrapped around him, he was even more desperate. 

She made him insane. 

Scorpius watched her carefully. He waited for the flush to creep above her collar, for her eyes to fall closed, for her breathing to turn shallow and desperate. Then he pulled out of her knickers and sat back in his seat. 

She let out a low, pathetic sound. “I was so close!” she whispered fiercely. “Why in Godric’s name did you stop?”

He smirked at her. “Perhaps think about that next time you wrap yourself around Marcus Carrow.”

She was still shaking with need, but now she glared at him. “You pig,” she said. “What about you? What about  _ you _ , shagging that slag? Sodding hypocrite.” 

As she turned away in her chair, he waved a hand and said casually, “I didn’t.”

She looked back. “Oh? Didn’t?” 

He shrugged. Her eyes were still glossy with lust. “Her hair was too short and she didn’t hate me enough.” 

When she didn’t respond, Scorpius said, “Meet me tonight in 107. I’ll finish you off.”


	12. Chapter 12

Rose pushed the door to Room 107 open. Desks stood in rows like pupils awaiting their professor. She pulled her robes tighter around herself. Beneath them, she wore a red negligee. But Malfoy didn’t seem to be here yet. She stepped into the classroom and closed the door behind her.

Then rough hands seized her, shoving her flat over a desk. On instinct, she struggled and writhed, but her assailant covered her mouth before she could scream. She felt hot breath against her ear.

“Oh, Weasley,” Malfoy breathed, “we wouldn’t want to disturb the castle, would we?”

Relief flooded her, shameful arousal hot on its heels. Her breasts pressed hard into the polished wood of the desk, her body bent at the waist. Malfoy stood between her spread legs, one hand clasped over her mouth, the other braced on her lower back to keep her down. Her lips parted under his palm as he ground his hips on hers.

“If I take my hand away, you’re going to be quiet. Aren’t you?” His voice was a low purr. Rose nodded earnestly. He chuckled. “That’s my good girl,” he said.

She took a deep breath when he uncovered her mouth. “Malfoy.”

He rubbed his hand over her tailbone absently. “Yes?” She shivered when he tangled his other hand in her hair.

“I need you,” she whispered. Her cheeks burned, but it was true. She could feel herself soaking through the lacy negligee she wore, her wetness trickling down her inner thigh.

He bent down, trailing his lips up the side of her neck. She squirmed back against him but he leaned away. “I know you do,” he murmured. “You need me. Just me.”

“Just you,” she whimpered.

She was glad her face was trapped against the desk and that she couldn’t see him. She already imagined his smug grin, knowing that he’d reduced her to something desperate for him and only him. _She didn’t hate me enough,_ he’d said, because no one could ever hate him as much as she did. It burned in her belly and lit her aflame. She needed him so much and hated him all the more for it.

Without warning, he fisted his hands in her robes and started yanking them off of her body. She kept her cheek against the cool desk and let him manhandle her. He hissed through his teeth when he saw her lingerie. He slid a finger under the shoulder strap before letting it snap against her skin.

“My pretty little Gryffindor slut,” he said, and she shuddered. “Did you wear this just for me?”

She nodded, eyes and cheeks burning. He grabbed her face, her full lips parting to accept his thumb. She curled her fingers over the edge of the desk. He cupped her cunt harshly, grabbing at her. “And so wet already. Just like earlier.” He pulled his thumb from her mouth and wiped her saliva on her bare shoulder. “Do you know what I imagined earlier?”

She shook her head.

“My innocent girl. I thought about putting you on display. Bending you over a desk exactly like this, but with your pink pussy bare. I’d spread you open so that they could see how swollen and slick your cunt gets for me.”

He didn’t say who “they” was, but she didn’t need him to. It was enough to picture an anonymous, faceless figure watching as he took her. She let out a pitiful moan.

“I’d let them watch me force my fingers inside of you.” As he spoke, he kicked her legs wider and shoved a finger inside of her. She cried out and forced herself back on him. “You’d love every second of it.”

And she would. His roughness reminded her of that night at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, when he’d held her down and taken her arse.

She knew this was her punishment for Carrow. He’d made that much clear. But it didn’t feel like a punishment. It felt like a claiming, and she wanted it to be. Even though it would ruin her life if Albus or her cousins ever found out. Even though it meant she was whoring herself out for a Malfoy. She just couldn’t feel guilty when it felt so good.

She listened as he pushed his fingers in and out of her. She hoped he wouldn’t mention it, but of course, he did.

“So wet,” he said into her ear. “Are you listening to yourself? Can you feel it dripping down your legs? You’ve soaked my hand, love.” He curled his fingers and she whined, clinging to the desk.

She was so close already, without him touching her clit at all. But he’d worked her up so much during class, and she’d been aching ever since. Her pussy throbbed and she buried her face in the desk when he laughed.

“You just can’t get enough.” He brushed his lips over her jaw. “ _Can you_?”

“Please, just fuck me,” she gasped, rolling her hips. “I need it.”

He sighed, as if put out. “Oh, well, I suppose.” She couldn’t imagine how he restrained himself. She felt half out of her mind with desperation.

Then he rammed two fingers deep inside of her, knocking her hip bones into the edge of the table, and all of her thoughts melted away. She wasn’t embarrassed about the sloppy sounds from between her legs, she wasn’t thinking about her cousins. He grabbed her hair and shoved her cheek into the desktop, his fingers hitting that spot deep inside of her.

She bit her lip to stop from babbling, tasting blood. Little mewls still escaped. She was helpless to him, her belly tightening.

“I’m so close,” she gasped. “Oh Merlin, Malfoy!”

She slammed a fist down on the desk when he retreated. “Malfoy!” Her legs shook; she’d been _so close._ She panted, rubbing a hand down her face. “Damn you,” she snarled. “I need it. Please.”

She clenched. She felt more empty than she ever had before, and exhausted. Couldn’t he see how strung out she was? Why wouldn’t he let her finish? Tears stung her eyes and one escaped, dripping onto the desk. “Please. I’ll be so good. I’ll do anything you want. Just fuck me. Malfoy, please, you don’t know how bad I need it.”

“What do you need?”

“You! Your cock.”

She sobbed. She went up on her toes when she felt him smooth a hand down her flank. If he’d just…

“I like it when you cry, Weasley.”

He sunk inside of her with one long stroke. She cried unabashedly now, sobbing as he fucked her. “Yes. Yes. Thank you, thank you.” He stretched her but she was slick enough that it didn’t matter.

He wasn’t gentle with her. He pounded her into the desk, his grip on her hips keeping her pinned like a specimen. Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop herself from rambling—gratitude, praise, apologies, all spilling from her mouth like water from a tipped vessel. He growled above her, breathing hard every time he thrust his cock into her.

“I need to come,” she begged.

“Say you’re mine, slut.”

“I’m yours,” Rose promised. “Your girl, yours to fuck. I’m yours, yours, yours.”

He bit down hard on the flesh between her neck and shoulder, his chest flat against her spine, and she came harder than ever. He groaned as her pussy tightened around his cock and she felt every hot jet of his cum as he finished inside of her. She collapsed, his weight atop her the only thing keeping her on the desk.

He pulled out with a low, tortured sound. She whimpered, and a flood of hot cum spilled out of her. She moved to close her legs instinctively, but he laid a hand on her thigh to stop her. She didn’t dare challenge him, not even when he used both hands to spread her pussy open to his gaze. Humiliation, stinging and hot, swept over her. She moaned.

“Malfoy, stop,” she said, making no move to stop him. She was too tired.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re full of my seed.”

She moaned weakly and he chuckled. She heard him zip his trousers and the jingle of his belt as he refastened it. It surprised her when he laid her robes carefully over her exhausted form. He rubbed a hand down her back. She didn’t think to protest.

“You’re mine to fuck like this,” he whispered. “Not Carrow’s. Not anyone’s.”

“Yours,” she murmured.

“You have to wake up a little,” Malfoy said, but not cruelly. “I can’t get into the Gryffindor dorms to take you back; you’ll have to walk.”

She pushed herself up. Her limbs shook like a baby doe’s. “I’ve got it,” she said.

She looked at him for the first time since she’d walked into the classroom. His eyes heavy, his hair mussed like he’d drug his hands through it. He looked almost as tired as her, though he kept his voice normal.

She said, “I’ll see you in Charms?”


	13. Chapter 13

Rose was still sore when she woke up the next morning. She ached between her legs and her hips throbbed with new bruises that formed overnight. Rolling out of bed was a chore. Drawing on her school robes was worse.

Roxy and Lily Luna chattered at the end of Roxy’s bed, oblivious to her absence the night before. Something loosened in Rose’s chest and her breath came a little easier. 

She followed them to the Great Hall at a distance. Hugo joined them from the Common Room. “Top o’ the morning, Rosie,” he said, falling into step with her. “You look tired today.”

She smiled blandly at him. “Still the charmer, I see,” she said. Roxanne snickered a few feet ahead. 

Rose sat down on Albus’s left at the Gryffindor table. She pushed her hair behind her ear and smiled at him. His responding grin soothed an ache she hadn’t noticed before. They’d been more distant from one another so far this year, and while she knew it was her fault—

“Is that a...bite?” he asked abruptly. His smile was gone. 

The rest of her family looked over at her, faces curious, and Rose’s heart faltered. “I—” She cleared her throat. “What are you talking about exactly?” She shook her hair out defensively, back from behind her ears. 

Albus’s eyes were stony and remote. “Above your collar,” he said. “You’ve covered it with your hair now.”

“Let  _ us _ see,” Hugo said, stretching across the table towards her, but Rose leaned away in her seat. She felt heat rising up her neck, her mouth dry. Albus looked at her as though she were a stranger. She resisted the urge to hide beneath the breakfast table. 

“Shove off,” she told Hugo.

Roxanne giggled. “So  _ that’s _ why you’ve been so scarce lately,” her cousin said. She smiled delightedly. “Who  _ is _ it?”

Rose yanked her plate towards her, picking up her fork. Lily Luna eyed her cooly. She looked unnervingly unsurprised and not near as excited as Roxy or Hugo. For a moment, she was glad to have at least one less person picking at her most shameful secret. 

“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Rose said. “It’s private.”

“Even to me?” Al asked. 

She opened her mouth, but found nothing to say. He looked at her until he too realized that she had no answer. She didn’t miss the hurt on his face as he turned away from her. She reached for his shoulder. “Al, you know I don’t’ mean—” But he stood when her fingers brushed his robes. 

“I’ll see you later,” he said without looking at any of them. 

Hugo frowned as he walked off. “Don’t know why he’s got his knickers in a twist,” he muttered. Rose stared after Albus. “It’s not as though any of us knew either.”

Lily Luna hummed and sipped her pumpkin juice. 

Roxy asked, “Are you really not going to tell us?”

Guilt soured her stomach and Rose tapped her fork against the edge of the table. She felt eyes on her back, but she didn’t know if they were Carrow’s or Malfoy’s. She said, “I don’t think so. They’re not very—” She hesitated. “Open. About it. And I doubt it’ll last either way.” She didn’t feel bad for tossing Malfoy under the bus. 

“Is it a girl?” Roxanne asked. 

“No. It’s not a girl, Roxy.”

How much simpler it would be if it was. 

Hugo said, “Can we guess?” He raised an eyebrow when she cast a glare in his direction. “No? Come on, Rosie! You know it’ll drive me batty now.” 

“It’s none of your business, Hugo.”

He glared at her. “Well, you’d better hope that mark fades within the week or you’ll have a hell of a time explaining it to Dad and Mum.”

Rose hadn’t thought about the upcoming Christmas holidays. And now that he brought it up, she  _ wasn’t _ sure how long it took for love bites to fade. Was a week long enough?

Her stomach churned. 

She pushed her plate away and rose from her seat. Her side felt cold without Albus beside her. “I have some homework to finish before classes start,” she said, “but I’ll catch up with you at lunch.” 

She walked away. “Give her space,” she heard Lily Luna say to Hugo as he stood to come after her. 

She sighed. 

⚯͛

Feminine moans emanated from the bed across from Scorpius’s. He laid in his own bed and tried very hard to tune it out. Lysander snored beside him, blissfully unaware of his suffering. Lorcan made no sound, but it was safe to assume that he was sleeping peacefully as well. 

Scorpius was exhausted even before he went to bed. His thighs and arms burned from Quidditch practice. He returned to the dorm late, ready to collapse into bed, but instead found no rest waiting for him. Just Marcus sodding Carrow, consistently striving to ruin his life. He buried his face in his pillow to block out the giggles and growls. Scorpius ground his teeth. 

He sat up when Carrow’s curtain around his bed drew open. The dark offered some semblance of privacy, but he could still make out the glow of the tumbled witch’s skin and her fiery red hair. For a moment, his breath caught. But the witch was too tall, her breasts not quite as full, her hair wavy instead of riotously curly. She whispered something over her shoulder into the dark before she stood, dressed. Her footsteps were silent as she padded out of the room.

Carrow rose from his bed naked. His eyes caught on Scorpius, sitting up against his pillows. His toothy grin glowed. “She’s beautiful, isn't she?” he asked. 

Scorpius was silent. 

Carrow didn’t require a reply. “Lovely hair,” he continued. He reached for his flask, waiting patiently on the nightstand. He took an indulgent drink from its mouth before he said, “What can I say? I suppose I have a type.”

Scorpius stared at him for a few heartbeats. The other man looked back over the bottom of his flask. Then Scorpius rolled over and shut his eyes tight. 

He thought he heard Carrow chuckle. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait for these chapters! As I've mentioned in the comments, my beta(s) have been busy and haven't been able to approve my chapters. I planned for this to be a three chapter update, but haven't finished Chapter Fifteen yet. It'll be up along with a typical accompanying chapter next week, now that my main beta is reading again. Enjoy the smut and stay tuned. ;)

The holidays dragged, bringing relief only when they ended. The bruise on Rose’s neck faded before the train arrived to deliver the students home, but almost a month later, she still felt it on her skin. 

“Are you seeing anyone, Rosie?” her Uncle George asked at the Christmas table. 

Hugo snickered. “Yes, Rosie, are you  _ seeing _ any blokes right now?” Lily Luna sipped her tea beside her father. 

Rose glanced at Albus for support but he didn’t meet her eyes. She raised her fork to her mouth. “No,” she said, hand paused near her lips. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. I suppose no one’s caught my eye yet.” And she cast a glance at her younger brother, daring him to contradict her. 

He said nothing, but the tension at the table was palpable. 

So yes. She was glad to be back on the Hogwarts Express, free of the eyes of at least her older relatives. Her cousins and brother were dozing, the rocking of the train lulling them to sleep. Rose felt drowsy herself, but her mind refused to relax no matter how tired her body was. 

It was as though her half-formed thoughts brought him to her. He cut a dark shadow through the window, not yet changed into his school robes. He passed without looking at her, but rapped softly on the compartment door so that she knew to follow. She waited only a moment before rising to her feet and pushing the door open as silently as possible. It rattled as she slid it closed again. Malfoy's figure disappeared into another compartment down the corridor. 

Her cheeks heated as she passed compartments full of laughing students, any who might have noticed her trailing after Malfoy if they felt so inclined to put the pieces together. 

“You look good,” Malfoy said when she stepped into their otherwise-empty compartment. 

She hadn’t yet changed into her robes and still wore her dark penny coat open over a pale cream dress. He sat with his knees spread, staring up at her with a look that made her fidget. His collar gaped and displayed the white column of his throat. Her mouth watered. Malfoy smirked at her and leaned farther back in his seat. “See something you like?” he asked. 

“Evidently you do,” she retorted. 

His smirk grew to a grin. Clearly enough, his cock swelled against the fly of his slacks. She stood watching him in her nice clothes. Malfoy said, “Are you going to make me come and get you? Or can my good girl walk by herself?”

She blushed at his patronization. 

He extended a hand towards her and she laid her palm in his, allowing him to help her straddle his lap. She sighed when his erection rubbed between her legs, momentarily soothing the ache. She ran a hand through his hair, her other braced on his shoulder. He gripped her arse and yanked her forwards. She fell deeper into him, cunt grinding against him, her forehead pressed to his.

“I hate you,” she breathed. 

He shoved her coat off her shoulders. “You should,” he told her. His silver eyes were hot. 

“I do.” She squirmed when he slipped his fingers underneath her dress. “Especially how you make me feel. Especially what you do to me.”

“This?” he asked, pulling her knickers to the side.

“No,” Rose said. “Not this.”

Malfoy pushed a finger into her and she moaned. She laid her head on his shoulder, clenching around him each time he withdrew. “I love watching you squirm for me,” he said, and forced another finger inside.

She looked down at where his wrist disappeared beneath the hem of her dress. She bit her lips when he yanked his fingers from her. “Open,” he commanded, and her lips parted instinctively. He drug a fingertip over her lower lip before pushing both into her mouth. She shuddered, tasting herself. With his free hand, he held her face, forcing her to look at him. 

“Don’t you taste so sweet?” he murmured. Dazed, she nodded. “I thought about you over the holidays,” he continued, almost conversationally. “I thought about you every time I made myself come.” She stared at him, tongue working against his fingers. “You’re bewitching.”

When she tried to speak he shoved his fingers against the back of her throat, making her gag. “You’re bewitching and I don’t care to hear anything else about it.” 

She nodded again and he smirked. His fingers slid from between her lips, saliva trailing after. “Clean yourself up,” he said, wiping his slick hand on the seat next to him. “You look a mess.”

“With what?” Rose asked, leaning a few inches back from him. Her pussy throbbed and she ground against his cock to relieve the almost-pain. 

He plucked at her dress. “You’ve got a perfectly good bit of tissue right here.”

“ _ Malfoy _ .”

“Disobeying me?” He arched a pale eyebrow and her belly clenched. She shook her head mutely and raised her dress to wipe her own wetness and saliva from her mouth. Her thighs quivered. He stroked her hair, just once. “Good.” His praise warmed her. 

The fluids left a wet stain on her dress.

Malfoy reached down and she watched at her undid his belt and withdrew the length of his cock. Looking at him intimidated her; though she’d taken him many times, whenever she saw him fully, it seemed impossible he would ever fit inside of her. The sight made her tremble. His head was flushed nearly red and slick with precum. 

“Fuck yourself on it,” he commanded.

She lowered her gaze but obeyed. With difficulty, she lifted herself above his cock until the head pressed into her pussy. Then her tired thighs gave out and she dropped down on him, catching herself three quarters of the way down his cock. 

“Ah!” 

He sat deep in her belly now, so deep that she felt breathless for a moment. He groaned and his hips stirred beneath her. 

“So hot and wet, Weasley,” he murmured. His head fell back and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Such a sweet little cunt.” 

Slowly, she pushed herself the rest of the way down on his cock, panting. Finally, he was seated completely inside of her, her clit pressing against his pelvis. “It’s so much,” she whispered, and he peered at her through slitted eyes. “You’re so deep.” 

“Lift your skirt so I can watch.” 

She bit her lip and hesitantly raised her hem of her dress. Malfoy growled and bucked his hips. Helplessly, she whined and lurched forward, clutching her dress skirt below her breasts as if clinging to a lifeline. 

“Oh!”

“Look at that,” he demanded, his eyes fixed where their bodies joined. Then he traced his fingers over a bulge in her lower belly. “My little whore. Look at how hard your body works to fit my cock inside of you.” 

“Merlin…” From above, she could see his cock bulging her stomach, pressing out above the mound of her pussy. She’d never taken him in this position, never felt him so deep. It bordered on pain. 

Then he pressed his palm flat into that stretched spot just below her womb and she felt him even deeper. Her lips parted on a broken moan. “Malfoy, no, it hurts—”

“And it should. You’re too tight for my cock, but you force yourself to take it anyway. Because that’s the kind of slut you are. Fuck yourself like this. Don’t make me ask twice.” 

So she did. She braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself shakily, only to drop herself back down. Her legs burned and his palm pressing his cock into her stomach made her feel every stroke with painful intensity. It was one of the most rawly erotic experiences of her life. 

As if he couldn’t take it anymore, he wrapped his arm around her waist and snapped his hips up into her pussy. His palm never left her belly. There was nothing she could do but cling to his shoulders and go limp as he shoved his cock into her, again and again and again, never giving her a chance to catch her breath. 

“Malfoy, please, I’m going to—”

“Come. Come on my cock.” He sounded strangled, and sank his teeth into her shoulder as she smothered a cry into his neck, her pussy clenching on his shaft as she came. He hissed her name as her skin split under his teeth and she whined. 

She collapsed against his chest, exhausted. She felt like she’d been hit by an  _ Ossio Despersimus _ . His cock twitched inside of her and they both winced at the same time. Rose sighed and pushed herself up and off of his lap. Cum ran down her thigh as his cock slipped free of her. 

“Oh!” 

Without thinking, she cupped a hand between her legs to keep from making a mess on the cushion below her. Malfoy smirked at her and she scoffed, pulling her knickers back to cover herself once more, and to prevent any embarrassing leakage during the rest of the day. Her cunt felt used and sore, but she savored it. It had been too long, and he chuckled when she said so. 

“Insatiable,” he told her. 

He stood, leaving her sitting on the seat in her stained dress, his seed slowly soaking through her knickers. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” he told her, one hand on the door. Then he paused. “And Slytherin is throwing a post-New Years party this Friday. Consider this your invitation.” 

Rose stared after him as he closed the compartment door, then dropped her head against the seat behind her. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's been another delay in posting. I do want to apologize for that; my betas have been delayed again and I want to give them the space to live their own lives aside from my schedule. I too have been living my own life as well. I graduated the last week of June with my class and have been looking at next steps after this degree and what I need for the BA and MA now. (Two claps for first gen grads!)
> 
> I'm going to look at working a bit more independently so that posting doesn't grind to a halt when my betas get busy, too. But expect more frequent updates hopefully now that I'm not trying to juggle a class and work schedule over the summer.

Scorpius laid an ankle over his knee and leaned back in the arm chair. The party started an hour ago and he hadn’t seen any signs of his red-headed girl, but he felt certain she would come. He swirled his finger of Dragon Barrel Brandy. Zabini leaned over the back of his chair, dark head hung low so that Scorpius could hear him when he spoke. His voice was soft at Scorpius’s ear. 

“Have you seen Carrow around here since this thing started?” he asked. 

Scorpius shrugged to appear unconcerned. What did he care what that bastard did? “Am I Carrow’s keeper?” he drawled, and took a drink from his glass. 

“His blood cries from the ground,” Zabini said dryly. 

Scorpius heard the smirk in his voice. “We could only hope,” he said, “though I don’t think we’ll be so lucky tonight.”

“And what a shame it is,” Zabini said, and the armchair creaked as he pushed off of it to stand to his full height. Scorpius didn’t turn around; he felt the other Slytherin still hovering close. 

Over the rim of his glass, he caught a flash of bright hair at the entrance. A smile pulled at his mouth and he licked his lips. The brandy tasted especially good tonight. Already, he imagined how Weasley would feel wrapped around his waist. Maybe he’d take her to bed in his own dorm tonight, while the rest of his dormmates were occupied drinking themselves into solid stupors. When else would he get the chance to have her in his own bed? When else would there be a smaller risk of being discovered?

He could see her curls spread out over his dark satin pillows as she writhed under his mouth, or possibly under his hands. No, he wanted to taste her tonight. She would be the perfect chaser. 

Then he grit his teeth. A dark, lean figure stepped out from the shadows—Marcus Carrow. Weasley looked over as he came towards her. Scorpius could see his smug grin from here. Of course he was panting after her again, probably hoping for a repeat of the Hallow’s masquerade months previous. The thought made Scorpius’s blood bubble and boil in his veins and he finished off his brandy with a growl. 

“Looks like Carrow has found his favorite toy,” Zabini commented, voice cool. Scorpius felt his eyes on him. 

Zabini was a good bloke. He didn’t enjoy the mindplay as most Slytherins did, but he was one of the best at it. And Scorpius had known him since he was a small boy. His father and Blaise Zabini grew closer in their post-Hogwarts years. Scorpius took a deep breath, and said, “I don’t blame him, but it’s no excuse for touching what is mine.” 

Zabini made no move to step around the chair or look him in the eyes, but he asked, “Yours?”

Scorpius didn’t look at him either. “Mine.” 

Zabini hummed, then reached out a hand. “Can I get you a refill? Looks as if it might be a long night for you.” 

Scorpius breathed out. Perhaps telling Zabini had not been his smartest decision, but it had not immediately turned out to be a bad one. He passed the other man his empty glass. “Return quickly,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off of Carrow and Weasley. He clenched his jaw when he saw Carrow reach for the end of one of her tightly-coiled curls. He tugged on it and Scorpius’s knuckles cracked on the arm of the chair. 

“Affirmative,” Zabini said before melting away. 

To his credit, Zabini returned swiftly. Carrow was still with Weasley, inching closer to her. He wanted to go to her, but Carrow would have instantly seen it for what it was, and the best thing now was for him to never have his suspicions confirmed. As deeply as Carrow’s jealousy ran, he needed nothing more to intensify it. He accepted his refilled glass from Zabini and drank deep from it. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Are there any other favors you need?” Zabini asked, and this time, his eyes slid meaningfully towards Weasley and Carrow at the back of the crowd. 

Scorpius sighed and eyed him. It was kind of him to offer, but it didn’t make it smart of Scorpius to accept. 

“I think I’m going to get some fresh air. Maybe head out to the corridor for a few minutes. Too many people in here. I’d prefer the much more intimate crowd out there,” he said. Zabini nodded along slowly as he spoke. He watched Scorpius as he rose from his armchair, drink still in hand. 

“I can understand the sentiment,” he said. “I’m glad to help. I wouldn’t want anyone to remain in situations where they felt clearly uncomfortable.” Scorpius’s eyes wandered to where Carrow pressed closer to Weasley. 

Scorpius gave him a small, tight nod and Zabini smirked before he turned away.

 

The Slytherin Commons Room was dark and full of writhing bodies. She could almost see the flash of fangs and glint of scales as the snakes roiled together. They all moved as one breathing being, torsos brushing and hips grinding. The darkness made her feel briefly blind, and she was caught off guard when Carrow approached from her left. 

“Weasley,” he said, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised.” His teeth flashed when he smiled. 

Rose bared her teeth at him. She had no intention of socializing with him. She still felt the press of his hands on her at the Halloween masquerade party, the unforgiving way the stone of the wall pressed into her spine and shoulder blades as he forced her back. 

“Marcus Carrow,” she said. “Just the bloke I did not want to see.” 

His smile shrunk but didn’t disappear. “Hard to get,” he said. “I do like it so much when they play coy.” 

Rose stepped back, only to find that the crowd had already closed behind her, leaving her in their midst. Her heart beat unevenly in her chest. He took a step towards her, then another to close the distance between them. Rose looked out through the crowd, but she didn’t see Malfoy. She cursed herself. Of course, she wouldn’t just step into the Slytherin Common Room and run directly into Malfoy. But still, she had hoped. She thought that he might be waiting for her. 

“No, Carrow,” she said firmly. “I’ve just come to make an appearance.”

“Allow me to make your experience run as smoothly as possible,” he said. “I insist—as your host.” His hand ran down her elbow to her wrist, which he gripped hard. He held it close to her thigh, essentially pinning her arm to her side. It was an inconspicuous motion, but only more effective for it. Her fear spiked. “Can I just say,” Carrow whispered, “how beautiful you look this evening?” He pinched the end of a strand of her hair and yanked, just hard enough to sting. 

She glared up at him, though her jaw ached for gritting her teeth. “Thank you,” she said. “I would be ever so much more grateful if you would _let go of my wrist_.”

_Malfoy, if ever you could choose to make an appearance, now would be the time!_

“Maybe if you were to ask nicely.” 

Rose pressed her lips together and said nothing. She didn’t trust the shine in his eyes and didn’t think that begging to be let go would improve her chances. Something inside of her turned to stone as the hand that had yanked her hair slid down the side of her body. Though she was only missing her school robes, she felt naked as he touched her. When he stopped, she expected to see dirt smeared down her flank. 

She shuddered and looked down as he opened his mouth to speak again. Then his eyes flicked to a point over her shoulder and he stiffened. Rose didn’t move. 

A deep, clear voice spoke from behind her. “Marcus,” it said. “I was looking for Weasley here. Might I steal her away from a moment?”

She could have collapsed from the rush of relief that went through her. She looked back over her shoulder to see Declan Zabini standing with his hands slipped into the pockets of his dark trousers. His stance was casual, but there was a stiff threat in the set of his broad shoulders. 

“Of course,” Carrow said easily. “I believe we were just wrapping up, in fact.” 

Zabini’s gaze dropped to where Carrow held her wrist tightly. His expression didn’t change, which Rose felt was in itself an indication of his feeling on the matter. “Well, why don’t you release her to me?” He put an almost-undetectable amount of emphasis on ‘release’. For no reason, Rose felt tears burn her eyes. 

Carrow’s hand dropped from her wrist and she was free again. She ached where he had held her. She stepped towards Zabini, straightening herself to keep from stumbling, and he moved back from her to give her room. Carrow smiled at her, all teeth and no sincerity. It sent a shiver down Rose’s spine. 

“I’ll see you later, Weasley,” he said. “Enjoy the party.” 

The crowd swallowed him up and Rose could finally breathe again. She looked up at Zabini. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t understand, but thank you.” 

He stepped to the side to indicate that she should walk past him, and she did. He fell into step beside her and touched her once, gently, between her shoulder blades. At the soft touch, some of her tension bled out. He didn’t say anything else, but led her smoothly through the writhing crowd. 

As they neared the edge of the Common Room—had Carrow really moved her so far away from the doorway without her noticing?—discomfort crept back in. “Zabini…” she started, but he winked at her and nudged her out into the corridor. 

A long shadow lurked in one of the alcoves of the corridor. Her breath caught, half in relief and half in anger. “Malfoy,” she growled, and she saw his answering smile in the dark.  

“Weasley. How nice of you to join us.”

“I never should have come,” she said, but a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. She walked towards him, hands out to push him further into the alcove. He caught her wrists, a sharp pain from her aching left lancing up her shoulder. She flinched. “Let me go,” she snapped without thinking and, to her surprise, Malfoy released her instantly. 

He leaned forward, resting his hands beside her head. His broad shoulders shielded her from any potential prying eyes, though the corridor was empty. His eyes never left hers, staring down at her with a brutal hunger. “Seems you need a reminder that you’re mine,” he murmured. 

She felt a flush spreading up her neck. She ran a finger down his cheekbone, then his jaw, until it trailed down his neck and came to a stop at the collar of his jumper, which she tugged at absently with her single finger. “Anyone might see,” she said.

He hissed, bending his head to lick up her neck. Her breath rattled out of her in a shaky sigh. Knees weakening, she grabbed onto his shoulders, nails digging into his robes as she tried to keep herself up. “And you’ll let me have you right here anyway.”

“Pretty sure about that, aren’t you?” Rose taunted, but her voice was weak as her knees and held no resistance.

Malfoy chuckled. “Damn straight I am, Weasley,” he told her, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to her lips. He tried to pull away but Rose raised her face, keeping their lips connected as she jerked him against her. He groaned, moving his hands down until they were raising her skirt. Then he let it fall back into place and started undoing the button of his trousers. Rose reached forward hastily, brushing his fingers away to replace them with her own. 

“I want to,” she said, looking up at him.

“Merlin,” he said as she unzipped his trousers and thrust her hand inside.

Her grip was tight as she pulled him out. He gasped, arching into her touch. She gave him a few strokes, watching as his eyes closed and his face tightened. He was beautiful, with his white hair and strong jaw and lean body.

Satisfaction ran hot through her. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze before his own dropped down to where her hand rubbed over his cock. For a moment, his expression was pure male gratification. Then his face shuttered closed. Rose’s mouth went sour and she froze, something sick twisting in her belly. She might not have been the most experienced, but she was fairly sure blokes weren’t supposed to look like that in the middle of a handjob. 

“I—” 

“What’s that on your wrist?” His voice was ice-cold. Rose looked down at her wrist and blinked. 

The wine-red of a new bruise stained her wrist. She could see the individual, horizontal imprints of fingers where Carrow had held her. Anything she planned to say died on her tongue. She understood now the blankness on Malfoy’s face; it was rage. When she opened her mouth to speak again, he fixed a glare on her. 

“Carrow,” he said lowly. 

⚯͛

Scorpius had never felt rage like this. It yawned open inside of him, reddening his vision and heating his face. On her wrist, red finger marks stained her creamy skin. It was already bruising. 

He’d been angry at every comment Carrow had made about her. He’d been angry when the slim red-headed girl climbed out from Carrow’s bed and known who the other boy had been imagining there in her place. And Scorpius had been angry before when he’d seen Carrow pressing Weasley back into the wall on Hallow’s Eve. 

Now, he was murderous. 

He barely saw Rose in front of him. The whole world turned the red of her freshly-bruised wrist. She was saying words to him but all he heard was all of the ways Marcus Carrow would beg for his life once he got his hands on him. 

Scorpius had never felt such rage before. He didn’t think he could keep it all inside of his own body. He imagined that it would pour out of his mouth and run down his shirtfront to ruin his good slacks. Then he thought of the stains as Carrow’s blood instead and something warm and pleasant lit in his chest. 

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Rose said. He blinked at her. 

“I’m going to—” But there were no words for what he would do. He could think of a million things, and none of them seemed quite bad enough. “That sodding bastard.”

Rose held a death grip on his right shirt sleeve. “You’re going to what? Hurt him? Over a little bruise?” She held it up to his face. “It’s hardly anything.”

“It’s not. You’re mine.”

“I’m not a thing, Scorpius Malfoy,” she said. 

She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks flushed with color. It made her whiskey-colored eyes sparkle. She was so beautiful, except for the bruise peeking around her forearm against her breast. He ground his teeth and reached for her. 

He seized her around the waist and pulled her against him. It trapped her arms between both of their chests and he felt her breathing shudder and pick up faster than before. He lowered his mouth to her ear, the soft strands of her hair tickling his chin and cheeks. Her hips shifted in his hands and he tightened his grip. He let his lips brush the soft shell of her ear before he spoke, anger low in his belly. 

“Not a thing,” he told her, “but still mine.”

She whimpered. 

Scorpius spun her back into the shadowed corner. The shadows fell across her face, accentuating the curve of her lips and the shine of her eyes. Her pale skin made her look ghostly and ethereal in the dark. _Mine mine mine._ In that moment, he couldn’t imagine ever letting her go, setting her back out in a world where Carrow might get a hold of her again. Where he might have the chance to put his eyes and his hands and mouth on her soft skin. He’d never give Carrow the chance to bruise her again. 

“Tell me.” His voice came out as a rough whisper. 

Her lips were already parted, the glint of teeth barely visible in the low light. She bit her lip. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me you’re mine.” He bit off a _please_ before it could escape as well. 

She shivered against him. “I...I’m yours. I’m sorry.” 

He shoved his mouth against hers. Perhaps he should have been more gentle with her, but he didn’t have gentleness inside of him. Her teeth split his lower lip and he hissed but didn’t pull away. She squirmed at the taste of blood, then freed her hands to pull him closer. 

Rose Weasley, finally his, after all of these years. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he warned her. She didn’t protest as he turned her face to the wall and lifted her skirt. Her breath came in gasps and he felt a quiver in her thighs where they pressed against his own. “I’m not going to be soft with you.” 

“I know,” she said. “Do it. Please.” 

He tugged her knickers down with one hand. With the other, he drug his fingers through her wet folds. He had to smother a groan. “You’re always so wet for me,” he whispered, leaning forward to speak into her ear again. “It amazes me every time. I don’t think anyone’s ever been this ready for me.”   
He pressed his thumb against her clit. She cried out softly and braced her hand against the wall in front of her. Embarrassingly, his fingers fumbled as he undid his slacks and freed his cock. He growled and pressed his chest to her back as he slid inside of her. Her cunt clenched around him, wet and tight, and for a moment, he thought he would spill inside of her right then. Little whimpers taunted him with each thrust deeper. Helplessly, he reached up her body to tangle his hand in her hair, the soft strands soothing him as he wrapped them around his wrist.

“Malfoy,” Rose murmured. She spoke so softly that he barely heard her over the slick sounds of her pussy. “Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.” 

He growled and pulled harder on her hair, driving his cock into her punishingly. When she left him, she wouldn’t even remember Carrow—she would only feel the soreness between her legs to remind her that _he_ had been there, had her, tasted her, pleasured her. Carrow would be nothing when she went back to her dorm. Scorpius didn’t plan to let her think of anything or anyone but him. 

He pressed the heel of his hand into her clit, not letting up even when she writhed and bucked as though to dislodge him. She came with a cry that broke as it peaked, and there was nothing he could do as she tightened around his cock. Her cunt seemed to milk every drop of release from him. 

“So greedy,” he whispered, and her body went slack. 

He wrapped one arm around her waist to brace her against him while she caught her breath. Her hair was wild where he’d held on and his softening cock slipped from between her legs, followed by a flood of her own wetness and his. He grinned in the dark and she let out a small gasp, clenching her thighs together. “Pull your knickers back up,” he advised, “and that’ll presumably help contain the mess.”

She did as he suggested and he released her. She stepped away from him, much to his displeasure. 

“I should go back to my dorm,” she said. “I don’t suppose I can very well go back in there with the state I’m in.” She gestured to her tangled hair and wrinkled skirt. 

Scorpius leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.  
“No, in the spirit of discretion, I don’t think that would be wise.”

She nodded along and he was pleased to note that she still appeared vaguely dazed from their rough shag against the wall. Next time, he’d fuck her so hard that she wouldn’t be able to walk away afterwards. The thought brought him a dangerous amount of pleasure. 

Rose smoothed her skirt down, once, then twice. “I’ll be seeing you around then,” she said, half-turned to go. Then she said, “Oh. And don’t say anything to Carrow.”

Just like that, his bad mood returned. “Weasley—”

But she raised her hand, palm open. “ _Don’t_ ,” she repeated. “He just isn’t worth it and you know it.”

He meant to disagree, but at the fire in her eyes he found himself agreeing. “As long as he says nothing to me,” Scorpius told her, “I won’t mention it to him.” She nodded, evidently satisfied, and turned her back to him to walk away. 

⚯͛

Carrow watched her straighten her skirt and run a hand through her hair. Hair still messy from that Malfoy prat’s hands, despite her efforts to smooth it. He ground his teeth as she stepped away from him, her face still flushed from fucking. With satisfaction, he noticed a new bruise coming up on her wrist. Malfoy hadn’t done that; that had been all him. She said something sternly to the paler-haired man, who nodded with a look of petulance on his face. 

It had been beautiful, to see her curvy little body as it shifted and shook with each thrust of a cock into her cunt. They were well-hidden in the shadows but if the light caught just right, he’d still been able to see her open lips as she gasped and moaned, the way she bit her lower lip when a particularly sensitive spot was struck. 

He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's commented and engaged with the story. I'm always open to ideas and criticism, and I'm more than appreciative to those of you who have given one or both. Let me know what you're thinking and what your favorite scene has been so far--NSFW or SFW! Thanks for hanging around. <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter; this is where the archive warnings finally make sense. This chapter will include rude, crude language, (attempted) rape, disassociative triggers, and corresponding violence. But we also get to see BAMF!Scorpius, so hopefully that makes up for it.

The owl swooped down in the middle of breakfast to drop the envelope right into the standing bowl of mashed potatoes. “Godric!” Rose gasped, lunging forward, but she was too late to save it.  _ Rose  _ was written flush on the front of the envelope in Malfoy’s straight-forward script. She hadn’t expected him to contact her so soon.

Perhaps he was writing to tell her that he had murdered Marcus Carrow in his sleep. 

“Who’s that from?” Albus asked, leaning across the table. 

“I don’t know,” Rose said, confused enough that she didn’t have to put any thought into making it sound honest. 

She began to open it, but then, she had no idea what he wrote or if it was public-appropriate. She tucked it into the inside pocket of her robes and Albus sighed. “Another secret?” he asked, defeated. 

Rose looked at him. He looked worn down, and he didn’t raise his eyes when he spoke. She wanted to say something to make it better, but she had nothing to say. It wasn’t  _ another _ secret—just more of the same one. Albus turned back to his food and made no other attempts to talk to her about the letter. 

She wondered how things were going with Violetta. They hadn’t talked about Albus himself in an era. 

When the Gryffindor table had cleared substantially, students rushing to make their first classes, Rose opened the letter. It  _ was  _ from Malfoy. He asked her to meet him in his dormitory, that night. He wrote in detail: how he wanted to see her hair spread out over his pillows as he fucked her, how he wanted his sheets to smell like her when she was gone. He included the verbal password to the Slytherin Common Room. 

Rose looked over to the Slytherin table to catch his eye, but he kept his head lowered, picking at his food. Only Marcus Carrow looked up and she glanced away again with a disgusted noise. 

“Who sent that?” Lily Luna asked, a few seats away. She was the only one left at the table, sipping demurely on her gillywater. 

Rose shrugged. “I don’t know. It isn’t signed. And I don’t know what they’re talking about either. The owl must have gotten mixed up.” Then, her cousin could say anything to refute it, she sent the parchment up in flames with a swift command from her wand. 

“Useless to me,” she said simply. 

Lily Luna didn’t question her. 

  
Rose crept out of her bed at eleven forty-five, careful not to wake anyone. Her stocking feet were quiet on the hardwood floor, the stone stairs’ chill bleeding up through her socks. Every breath and snore from her dormmates made her flinch, but no one stirred as she slipped out of the dormitory and into the Common Room. She closed the portrait door quietly behind herself, so softly that even the Fat Lady didn’t wake. 

Her belly twisted. Would Malfoy want to talk more about Carrow? There was nothing about Marcus Carrow that Rose wanted to discuss. Her wrist still ached where he grabbed her the night before. She rubbed it absently.   
Even in a full six years at Hogwarts, Rose had never snuck into another House’s Common Room, and now she had to admit that it thrilled her. She spoke the password to the bare stone wall in the dungeon and her pulse pounded when that same wall creaked open to reveal a dark, pallid-tinted room. The beauty of it, free of the clutter of dancing bodies and murky smoke, took her breath away. 

The curtains were pulled back from windows that looked out to the bottom of the lake. The soft glow of the water illuminated the wide room. It felt bigger without the crowd, and a larger-than-life oil painting hung above the mantle—a twining, forest-green serpent that peered down at the viewer with its mouth open and pink, white fangs long as daggers. In its eyes, there was a bare trace of true life. 

Rose shivered. Through the nearest window, she thought that maybe she could see the sleeping mound of the Giant Squid, slumbering below the water. 

The stone walls made it much colder than the Gryffindor Common Room. Her red hair was obviously out of place. Nothing was warm in the entire room. There was only the sharp glare of dark wood and the soft, muted flush of green velvet. The painted snake seemed to taunt her. 

At the back of the Room, two corridors ran down black halls in opposite directions: one for the boys, one for the girls. The last thing Rose needed was to wander down the wrong hall and into a room full of sleeping Slytherin girls. She couldn’t think of a better way to get hauled into the headmistress’s office. 

Tentatively, she picked the left corridor and luckily enough, the beds lined up were filled with large, sleeping bodies. She stepped over someone’s discarded briefs. Malfoy wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t told her how she would identify his bed from the others. She supposed she had expected her would be waiting for her, ready to engulf her in dark curtains and satin sheets as he described in his letter. Now she felt uncertain and nervous, her toes cold in her stockings. 

With a deep breath, Rose closed the door behind herself, only a light creak escaping the hinges. The dormitory itself was eerily quiet, not a rustle or snore to be heard despite the sleeping boys in their beds. She sighed and looked to the ceiling. 

She’d taken her eyes off of the beds for a moment. Perhaps only a heartbeat. But when she looked back behind her, the bodies in the beds were gone. 

A chill slithered down her spine. 

She turned, confused.

Three Slytherins blocked the dormitory door in a line, their arms crossed. Three more boys crossed out of the shadows to stand behind her. Her heart sank.

Rose didn’t recognize most of their faces—except for Lorcan and Lysander Scamander’s.  

“Hello,  _ Rosie _ ,” a voice said.

“Marcus Carrow.” Her lips formed a snarl. “What  _ precisely _ is the meaning of this?”

She turned towards him and he stepped forward to meet her. He was fast, and as hard as she tried, she wasn’t faster. His hands latched onto her hips. For every time she twisted to get free, his grip strengthened, like the tightening of Chinese handcuffs, and she realized that he didn’t intend to let her go until he was finished.

“Oh, no,” he crooned. “You don’t want to struggle. It’s only going to make it harder on you.” 

_ So that’s what this is. _

“You really intend to do this?” she demanded.  _ Right in front of everyone? _

He ground his pelvis back against her arse and purred into her ear. “Relax into it, Weasel. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.” 

She hated him so much that she thought it would drown her. 

Desperate, she looked to Lysander and Lorcan. They were Auntie Luna’s boys; they’d grown up together. Surely, what was about to happen to her, they would stop it. In that moment, she felt certain that they would. 

But instead, Lysander smiled pleasantly at her, Lorcan blank-faced a few steps behind his brother, and her ribs tightened around her heart.

“Stop!” she demanded as a hand slipped up her skirt from behind. The hand gripped her arse hard and she winced. 

She turned her head to see the grinning faces of the other boys. Another hand gripped her wrists, but it was difficult to tell whose in the dark. When she got ahold of Malfoy, he wouldn’t be able to walk again in his life. She stomped down on something that she hoped was a foot and the hands that held her released her wrists abruptly, pushing her forward into someone else. 

“Hold still, baby,” the new boy said—a voice she didn’t recognize. His hands yanked the buttons of her shirt until they split apart, bouncing over the cold floor. For a moment, she wished she’d worn her robes, but it would have only been another barrier for them to tear apart. It would not have stopped anything. Rough hands grabbed her elbows and held on tight. 

She hated them all. Carrow and Malfoy—who hadn’t even had the decency to show his face, who had just left her to be torn apart like a hare by wolves—and all the rest of them. 

She lashed out, kicking at Carrow, but it caught him only above the knee. He flinched and then, with sharp precision, slapped her across the face. Her cheek stung and she rolled with the smack as best she could, but there was only so far to the side she could go with the boy holding her in place. 

She thought of calling for Al. He would be sleeping near her, maybe in the dormitory room beside them. Perhaps he would hear her, but if he did, then what? He was one person against six. He’d get himself hurt trying to help, and really, did she want him to see her like this? Did she want him there to watch what they were about to do? 

_ House prejudices are useless,  _ her mother had told her when she’d first stepped onto Platform 9 ¾.  _ Slytherins can be just as good of people as you and I. No bad is in them that is not also in a Gryffindor.  _ Then Al had been sorted into Slytherin, and she had believed it. Of course, perhaps Slytherins were cruel, but in a schoolyard-bully sort of way. Not in a violent sort of way. They could be good, too. 

But no Gryffindor that Rose knew would ever do this. 

“No, no,” Lysander said when she opened her mouth again. To scream? To curse?  Then he raised his wand, pressing it beneath her chin, and frigid terror ran down her spine. But he only whispered, “ _ Silencio _ .”

So that was that.

Carrow drew his tongue down her neck and she shuddered.

The other boys crowded in. A hand rubbed her breast, another stroking down the inside of her thigh. She thought again of Albus and promised herself that no matter how much she wanted to, she would walk out of here when they were finished and never, ever tell him what they’d done. 

A sob rose in her chest, but she hadn’t been raised to let them see her cry. 

She felt a tug on her skirt and bit her lip hard. A hand shoved her hard to the ground. Her legs buckled and Rose fell hard, knees cracking against the cold stone floor. She gasped in pain. “Don’t touch me,” she mouth as Carrow knelt down, a smirk on his lips. She couldn’t speak audibly, but she knew he would understand.

And he did. “I‘m going to,” he told her, “so I’d get used to the idea.”

They lifted her, dragging her kicking and clawing up onto a bed. Malfoy’s bed, she realized, as his pine-needle scent settled down around her. The familiarity was cold comfort. She remembered the scratch of his handwriting on the parchment envelope, and she hoped the blood stained his fancy sheets and he had to throw them out. She hoped that when the time came, the pain made her piss herself, and it ruined his mattress. 

She’d been a fool.

Her cousin, Lysander, leaned over her chest, pinning her wrists beside her head. Someone held her ankles apart, spreading her legs. She didn’t know him, but she recognized his face. He had the thick Goyle brow, with the same close-set eyes. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but Carrow’s eyes followed her lips and she realized he wanted her to try to talk. He wanted to see her like this: utterly useless. Her eyes burned but she ground her teeth and looked up at the ceiling. It was made of dark stones fitted together but separated by mortared crevices. Malfoy laid here every night and looked at the same stones. Before, she might have thought it intimate, like his hand over her belly as he pressed inside of her, or the way he’d held her weight after she came the night before. Now it just made her feel cold inside.

She closed her eyes when she felt a mouth on her belly, exposed by her torn shirt. 

“You won’t even look at me?” Carrow whispered. “Oh, Rosie, a bloke might think you were only using him for his body.” The other Slytherins snickered. “Don’t be like that,” he continued. “You let Malfoy taste you. Seems only fair we get our sample.” She heard them shuffle and crowd around her, a pack of sharks who smelled blood in the water. 

He lowered his voice even further. “Come on, Rosie. We know you like it this way.”

She breathed out. A part of her was resigned to it, already wandering off somewhere more pleasant and farther away from the cold dormitory. Of course he knew. Malfoy had probably even told them. All that sneaking around, only to tattle about it later. It had probably only made the thrill better for him. 

Lysander brushed his lips over her ear and she turned her head to the side sharply. Her stomach turned and gorge rose in the back of her throat. She’d sat across the table from him at every family holiday. Her whole life, Lysander and Lorcan were right there. Perhaps they hadn’t been close, but they were  _ family _ . And she still hadn’t noticed that behind the respective grins and the blank expressions lurked something so gruesome. 

Her mouth tasted bitter. 

Lysander chuckled and Carrow’s teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath her navel. She heard the tell-tale jingle of a belt being undone. Despite herself, a tear ran down her temple. She had never wanted a person dead so much in her entire life.

She heard a door open and close and it seemed to knock her back inside of her own body. She felt the crowd shift to accommodate the newcomer, but then Lysander and Marcus released her. She lay there for a heartbeat, feeling her chest rising and falling, then she drug her legs up to her chest and broke the Goyle boy’s hold. He didn’t put up much of a fight. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes, just in time to watch Malfoy stalk in, Declan Zabini tall and dark behind him like an angry shadow. Malfoy had as much presence as a wolf among sheep and Rose shrank back as he neared her. She could see why the boys cleared away so quickly. His face was utterly blank.

Panic beat a kick drum in her chest. It had been easier when she floated above her body, eyes closed. Now she could feel the ache in her thighs and elbows where they grabbed her, her face still sore from Carrow’s hit. But nothing terrified her more than the tall silhouette of Malfoy approaching the bed, expressionless. She pushed herself up on one hand, ready to scramble towards the pillows. 

He stopped at the end of the bed. He looked only at her, and her legs shook. Then he bent down, so slowly, and picked up her torn shirt. His knuckles were white where he gripped it. 

“Whose idea,” he asked quietly, “was this?” 

Six fingers pointed six different directions. Against her will, tears pooled in the hollow of her throat and her chest heaved, just once. She tried to keep her face flat, her eyes on his. She didn’t want him to see her upset. 

She didn’t want him to see how relieved she was that he hadn’t known what they were going to take from her. 

But even her flat face stained by tears was enough. For a second, Malfoy looked like a real wolf, not an analogy, lips pulled back from teeth and eyes narrowed. 

She mouthed his name.

She didn’t see his expression break or change. He whirled without warning, slamming into Carrow like a Bludger. 

Then it was as if she had disappeared. He had eyes only for Carrow, and fists for him as well. Again and again, he struck him with a strict, efficient sort of brutality. They slid down the wall, Malfoy huffing as Carrow landed a blow to his side. A thin line of blood, black in the dark, trailed after the boys. Carrow’s, she hoped. White hair fell into Malfoy’s eyes, his shoulders a tight line as he hit the bloke trapped beneath him. 

Rose clasped her hands over her mouth. Her lower lip trembled against her palm. She felt naked, though now no one looked at her. They were focused instead on Malfoy, beating Carrow senseless. 

She didn’t feel sorry for him. 

Finally, Zabini took a step forward. He laid a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, then when Malfoy didn’t respond, clasped his clavicle and yanked him off of the other man. 

She couldn’t hear any breath in the room but Malfoy and Carrow’s. 

“That’s enough, mate,” Zabini said. 

Malfoy shook his head. His chest rose and fell quickly, just short of hyperventilation. Then he leaned forward and seized Carrow by the collar. Zabini watched closely. 

He spoke lowly to the boy in his grasp. Carrow didn’t recoil as some of the others had, but he kept his gaze low. On his knees, Malfoy lifted him slightly with one hand, forcing Carrow to meet his eyes. His white shirt was stained with blood.

“What was this?” Malfoy demanded lowly. “A sick joke? Round her up, bring her here, rape her in  _ my  _ bed? This was  _ your idea _ .” 

Carrow smiled with bloody teeth.

She felt his hands on her like the phantom chill of the Dementors. Her cheek ached where he slapped her. 

He said, “Perhaps I was mistaken. I could have sworn she liked it rough.”

Malfoy struck him once, swiftly, in the nose. Zabini reached out to restrain him but he waved him off and sat back on his haunches. Carrow’s nose sat at an odd angle and when he smiled, more blood gushed over his mouth. 

“The Headmistress is going to hear about this if you put him in the hospital wing,” Zabini murmured.

Barely audible, Malfoy said, “I’ll put him in the ground.” 

Rose felt every pound of her heart against her breastbone. A spot on her thigh stung from a scratch, her cheek was sore, her skin cold from the dank of the dungeons. She wished he  _ would _ kill him. Damn the consequences. 

Zabini stayed silent, and then Malfoy commanded, “Get them out. I want them  _ out _ .”

Zabini looked relieved to be able to herd the boys out of the room. Carrow’s eye was already beginning to swell and bruise. 

When they were gone, Malfoy dragged both his hands through his hair. He stepped closer to her and without thinking, Rose climbed up onto the silk pillows. 

They smelled just like him. She was suddenly painfully aware of that fact that she was very nearly naked. She tried to ask for her clothes, but nothing came out. His eyebrows drew together and she wrapped her hands around her throat, opening her mouth mutely. She pointed to his wand, tucked into the waistband of his trousers, but lowered her hand when it shook. His expression neutralized once more. The Malfoy mask. 

He took a step closer to her but made no move to touch her. It didn’t matter. His nearness was a physical sensation. He withdrew a long, ash wood wand from his belt. It was crooked at the middle, with childish Roman numerals carved into the base. He had done that in his first year. She remembered being annoyed over it; she herself would never vandalize her wand in such a way. But his had never seemed to mind. 

“ _ Finite _ ,” he murmured. 

“I—” She cleared her throat. “Give me my clothes,” she demanded coldly, but her voice still quivered. From disuse. From the spell. 

Obligingly, he bent over to gather what she’d been wearing. Her shirt lay where he’d dropped it. The buttons were ripped out of their moorings, several scattered on the floor. One of her bra straps was torn and dangled against her left arm.

“I could get you one of my shirts.” 

Rose stared. 

She said, “If you would, please.”

The silence was suddenly deafening. Malfoy walked to his trunk, pushed against the wall. He withdrew a soft woolen jumper. It was heather gray and at least double her size. 

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly.

She glanced at him, pausing pulling on the gray jumper. It felt expensive. Malfoy was clearly waiting for her to answer. Her thoughts felt like they were treading water.

“What?” she asked. 

He cleared his throat. A bruise was blooming on his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. He jerked his head stiffly towards the door. “For them. For what they tried to do.”

She inhaled. “You didn’t know?” she asked. 

He rubbed a hand down his face and sat down heavily on the end of the bed. “By Merlin,” he said. He blew out a fast, angry breath. Of course I didn’t know, Rose. What kind of person do you think I am?”

She stared at him, lost for words. She didn’t know what kind of person she thought he was. She hadn’t thought he was the sort to set her up to be raped, but she also hadn’t thought he was the sort to beat Marcus Carrow to a pulp for trying to. She felt as if perhaps she hadn’t really been paying attention to what kind of person Scorpius Malfoy was at all. 

Then he shook his head and stood up. “Forget it,” he said. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

“No, Malfoy, I—” 

“Forget it,” he repeated.

A quiver started in her fingers. She said, “Then please just get me out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this fic is not canon-complaint (dictated now by the 2016 play/screenwrite Harry Potter and The Cursed Child), I do try to keep things as in line with the information we have as possible. Some things we have received no clarification on, such as Scorpius’s Patronus, but others, like his wand, I have material to work off. A replica of Scorpius Malfoy’s wand was released after the production of The Cursed Child. It is a long, crooked wand of pale wood with numerals carved near the grip. 
> 
> The wood is not as yellow as alder and not as white as aspen, so using the “Wand Woods” Pottermore article by JK Rowling, I have headcanned his wand as ash. It is described as being a wood suited for “stubborn” wielders and it is noted that it is ill-suited for brash, over-confident wizards. Using the corresponding “Wand Cores” article, I figured that Scorpius would be best suited to a dragon heartstring core.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd only by myself; both my betas are indisposed and I wanted to post while I had the muse. Also, dedicated to Flowergirl, who commented today and inspired me to finish up this chapter and upload it, since it was sitting half-finished in my document. :) I do apologize since it's mostly falling action from the first plot climax, (HOW did this get so plotty) but I promise there's sex in the next chapter to make up for it.

She allowed Malfoy to scoop her up into his arms. She shook against his solid chest. “Do you want to go back to your dormitory?” he asked. She shook her head. 

“I can’t go back there like this.” 

_Wearing your jumper. With this bruise on my face._

“Where then?”

For a second, she was silent. There was nowhere to go, but she couldn’t stay here, in the room where she could still see their shadows moving as if they’d left them behind when they left. Finally she said, “Anywhere but here.”

Malfoy nodded above her head. 

The hour was very late; the dark wood grandfather clock in the Slytherin Common Room chimed one o’clock as they passed through. Had she really spent  an hour in that room? 

Malfoy carried her out of the Room, kicking the door shut behind himself, and as the chill grew colder, she was glad of his gray jumper and the heat of his chest. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply, as she had on his bed. His footsteps were wide and made little sound on the stone floor, his pace rocking her gently. 

_Hold still, baby._

_Oh no, no, you’re not going to want to struggle._

_Silencio._

Malfoy made a small sound, or maybe it was just a slight break in his regular step. She opened her eyes to see a door, plain brown and out of place where it was set back into the dungeon wall. She wished she hadn’t opened her eyes. 

“What?” she asked. 

After a pause, Malfoy said, “It’s just that this has never been here before.”

She took a deep breath. But they’d said it was destroyed by Fiendfyre. Her heart stuttered hopefully in her chest. 

“The Come and Go Room,” she whispered. 

Malfoy said, “I thought it was upstairs.”

“You knew it was still—you knew it still worked?” Rose demanded. She shifted against his chest to look him in the face. “I thought it was gone. Everyone said it was burned down.”

Malfoy shrugged and shifted her to reach for the door, unbothered by her wriggling. “I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure,” he told her. “I’d heard some fourth years whispering about it last year. I suppose this confirms it.” The door to the Room of Requirement opened for the both of them without complaint. 

Inside, a bed with dark bedclothes and silky pillows dominated the room. A canopy hung half-down around it like the robes of a king. Cruelly, it was almost identical to Malfoy’s bed in his dormitory. 

She shuddered. “Change it,” she commanded him. 

Scorpius Malfoy wavered. 

“I—,” she started to say, but he was already dropping her down to her feet. 

He didn’t look at her, and before their eyes, the bed shifted into brighter colors, crimson covers and golden curtains surrounding it and a tall leather armchair standing beside it. Still, it remained a queen; a bed for two. She glanced over at him. “Were you planning to stay?” she asked. 

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Malfoy said indifferently. 

His eyes took in everything but her, clouded over to a stormy gray color. Her breath came shallowly and she reached out a hand—to strike him, to push him out, to pull him into her, she wasn’t sure. But he turned away from her as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Get changed,” he told her. 

Without another word, Rose slipped her ripped skirt, knee highs and shoes off and climbed into the soft bed. She left only the jumper and her panties on. The sheets were satin. She wondered if Malfoy had imagined the sheets, too. 

She wondered if her cousins had woken up and noticed her absence. What they would say when they woke and she was gone, and what they would demand to know when she returned in the morning? Had Albus heard the commotion from Malfoy’s dormitory while he slept, or had Carrow thought about that during his planning? Perhaps calling for him wouldn’t have done anything at all. 

And Rose also wondered what would happen if Malfoy went back to that dormitory tonight, to Carrow and to the other boys who had held her down. 

She remembered the blank anger in his eyes and the way that he’d hit Marcus Carrow like he never planned to stop. 

“Are you coming to bed?” she asked. 

He stood there across the room, staring at her. 

He rolled his neck back as if to look at the ceiling above them. Then he cleared his throat. “I didn’t have any idea they were going to do something like this, Rose. I didn’t. I mean, I knew that Carrow was...a Carrow, but—” He huffed. “It is hard to imagine what people are capable of.” He said all of this to the circling ceiling fan. 

_Don’t I know that._

“He sent me a letter,” she said slowly, so that perhaps he would understand. “It was in your handwriting, addressed to me. He asked me to meet him—you, I suppose—in the dorm. He said...well, he said a lot of things. Things that I thought you would say.” She felt silly now, and she didn’t want to tell him out loud that she had believed he would say such things, invite her back to his room to take her in his own bed. “Then I went, and you weren’t there, so I thought—but I was wrong.” 

“Yes,” he said to the wall. 

She said, “I know you wouldn’t do that to me.”

This time, he looked over at her. His eyes were that same storm-cloud gray, but when they met hers, they seemed to shine. “I wouldn’t. I would _never_ do that to you. I am—” his breath hitched, “so sorry.” He raked a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay,” she told him. 

“It is not.”

Rose sat up and flipped the blankets open. She scooted over and patted the mattress beside her. “Malfoy,” she said. “Would you come get in the bed now, please?” 

“I’m not going to—” 

Her patience wavered. “Would you just get in the bloody bed?”

Instead, he threw himself down into the armchair beside it. He leaned back with his legs open and braced before him. There was no window or lamp in the Come and Go Room, just a preternatural illumination, as though the Room knew she was not quite ready to be once again surrounded by shadows. 

“We need to go see McGonagall,” he said finally. 

“No.”

He tipped his head back and sighed. “They will get away with this if we say nothing,” he told her. “You will have to see them nearly every day.”

Rose shook her head. “And when the Headmistress asks why I was in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory in the first place?”

She knew she would have to see them still. She hadn’t thought about it yet, but it didn’t rattle her to hear him say it. They were students, so was she. She said, “Lysander and Lorcan are my cousins, besides. I’ll see them at every holiday until I’m dead. It doesn’t matter.” She turned on her side. 

His breathing was barely audible, but the quiet susurrations of it lulled her. He said, “They can’t get away with it.”

“Did you see what you did to Carrow’s face?” Rose asked. “I doubt anyone could think that he got away with anything, Malfoy.” But she knew it didn’t satisfy him.  

“We need to do something.” 

She couldn’t explain to him the uproar it would cause in her family if she admitted to shagging a Malfoy, nor could she explain the animosity she was afraid it would cause to accuse her cousins of what they had tried to do. So she said, “In six months, I’ll graduate and I’ll never have to see him again. That’s what matters to me.”

The conversation fell into a pause. Then he said, “Tell them. At least before the Easter holidays.” 

She said nothing. There was nothing to say. She wasn’t going to tell her family, for more reasons than he’d care to listen to. So she let the conversation fade out as her eyes grew heavy. No one said anything. She listened to his slow breathing and rolled back over to face him. She hissed when her thighs rubbed together and a bruise on her ankle caught on her other ankle. Malfoy sat up straighter in the chair. 

“You’re hurting,” he said stiffly. 

She shook her head but didn’t say anything. The truth was that it _did_ hurt, but she wasn’t going to the hospital wing, and she knew he would insist. He would insist on seeing her bruises taken care of, and it made something ache deep down in the pit of her stomach.

He sat up and leaned to the bed, hand reaching for her wrist. She allowed him to take it, even though her skin crawled as he fingered the bruise Carrow left on her skin, the finger-shaped marks where he grabbed her. 

“I can fix it,” he said. Then his eyes moved to her face. “And the cut on your cheek as well. May I?” 

She was caught off guard. “You can heal them?”

He nodded. 

“I have others,” she said. She pushed the blankets down to show him the scratch on her thigh, just barely beginning to scab over. She gestured vaguely with her elbow to indicate the blooming bruises there as well. 

The expression on his face was so bleakly defeated that it hurt her to look at, but as soon as it appeared, he wiped it away. “I can fix all of them,” he said confidently, and opened the palm of his hand. A small jar manifested as if he’d summoned it. But he hadn’t. Just another gift from the Room that had taken them in. 

“Fix them then,” she said, and he unscrewed the jar’s lid to dip his fingers into a thick, yellow paste. It smelled pungent and medicinal. She wrinkled her nose. “Bruise-Removing Paste? Yuck.” 

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. “I’m not asking you to eat it.” 

He set the cream down and held out his clean hand to accept her wrist. His fingers were gentle as he smoothed the paste over her skin, rubbing it in until it no longer hurt and the discoloration disappeared. The clinical scent lingered on her skin but when she pulled her wrist back, the skin was healed and faintly moisturized. 

He treated her elbows the same, but for the gashes on her cheek and thigh, he removed his wand from his waistband. “ _Episkey_ ,” he murmured, once, then twice, to heal each cut. She was left with no marks at all. The spell was flawless, but she knew for a fact that Professor Flitwick wouldn’t begin to teach them basic healing spells till the last three months of school. 

“Where did you learn healing spells?” Rose asked him. 

If it wasn’t her imagination, it seemed that a light flush stained the tops of his pale cheeks. “I wanted to be a medi-wizard,” he muttered, stowing his wand. “Want to. That is to say, I think I’d like to become a medi-wizard when we graduate. I’m not sure yet. People like me...I’m not sure how well that would be received.”

“People like you?”

He met her eyes. “I don’t think that people would want a Malfoy standing around bandaging their children’s broken arms.” 

She said, “I think you’re wrong.”

Malfoy chuckled, but it wasn’t a pleasant chuckle. Bitterly, he said, “You’re the last person I ever would have thought would say that.” 

Again, she had no response. “I think we can both agree that we’re not what the other one expected?” she asked finally.

He glanced over at her and from his expression, she thought he might rebuke her, but instead, he just nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I would agree with that, I suppose.” And then he leaned back into the armchair away from her. 

The lights dimmed in the Room and though she didn’t mean to, she fell asleep, the scent of Bruise-Removing Paste dissipating into the air.

⚯͛

He left before she woke up. 

No windows illuminated the Room, but he knew that it was morning all the same. Very early, with still a few more hours for her to sleep. And sleep she did. Her hair was tangled around her face and she’d kicked the covers down to her hips as she slept, revealing his jumper twisted around her waist. It made him gravely pleased to see her sleeping so soundly in his clothes. 

She didn’t even stir as he closed the door behind himself. It was still just outside of the Slytherin Common Room, and he murmured the password to the bare stone wall: “ _Naja_.” 

It was just Scorpius’s luck that he would find Lorcan Scamander awake, lurking in a tall chair in the Common Room. He rose when Scorpius, who wasted no time in raising his wand, entered. Lorcan didn’t even reach for his own wand. Instead, he said, “Malfoy. I’d hoped we might be reasonable about this.”

Scorpius was barely capable of rational thought. If it had been Marcus Carrow standing there in front of him, he very well thought he might have been nearly driven to murder. Again. But as it was it was only Lorcan, the lazy, bovine scum of the earth. 

Through his teeth, he growled, “I don’t care how dull you act, or how charming your scheming Flobberworm of a brother thinks he is. Don’t speak to me. Don’t speak to _Rose_. And if I see either of you so much as glance the wrong way in her direction, I will do to you what I did to Carrow, but a hundred times worse.” He shoved the point of his wand into the hollow of Lorcan’s throat. “I do hope you understand.”

His face was lax, but his eyes were clear. Struggling to look down at the tip of Scorpius’s wand, Lorcan said, “I believe I do.” 

Without another word, Scorpius stowed his wand and stormed into his dorm. The water through the windows was light with the rising sun of early morning. Zabini was asleep in his bed, chest rising and falling with light snores. The other beds were empty and Scorpius was glad of it. Wherever Carrow and his minions had found to sleep, he was glad it was elsewhere. 

He stepped up to Zabini’s bed and shook his shoulder to wake him. The dark boy groaned and tried to bat his hand away. “Sod off,” he muttered, “I’m sleeping.”

“It’s me, Zabini,” Scorpius said. “Wake up. We can be the first to the Great Hall for breakfast.” After a pause without response, he continued, “It would be such a shame if I were to go by myself and accidentally murder Carrow on the way to get his morning bangers.” 

Moaning, Zabini rolled himself out of bed, eyes bleary. He pushed Scorpius out of the way as he stood and staggered towards his trunk at the foot of the bed. “Murder Carrow?” he grumbled. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you before we get down there. What an ungodly hour.” 

But he pulled on his trousers anyway.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make it clear that the “Last Updated” display for this story on Ao3 is not accurate. I know it says that I last updated sometime in March, but I actually am updating on September __, and my previous update went up about two weeks ago. I may start dating the updates just so that new readers can understand the update average schedule and have a legitimate idea of what to expect from my schedule.  
> Also, TW: for discussion of trauma reactions. I can’t believe this turned out so fucking plotty.

“They’re going to devour you,” Albus said, lengthening his stride to make pace with her. Rose started. 

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, keeping his green eyes anywhere else, but he told her, “Last night. It’s all I’ve heard about all morning. How you were out all night with your mystery bloke.” Then he paused, like he was waiting for her to say something. 

She imagined what it would be like to tell him everything. About Scorpius, and the night before, and her mad dash back to her dormitory this morning. And a small, unfair part of her imagined saying, _Where were you? You were a wall away; why couldn’t you come?_ But of course, Albus was no psychic. There wasn’t a way he could have known. 

Yet that small kernel of bitterness wouldn’t quite die. 

“I’m sorry to have worried anyone,” she said instead. 

Albus just shook his head, looking almost disappointed. “I don’t think they were worried.  But they’re going to torture the details out of you.”

No, they wouldn’t. 

As they approached the Great Hall, his steps began to lengthen again, this time taking him ahead and away from her. Her chest clenched. She grabbed the arm of his robe. “Wait!” He glanced back at her and she cleared her throat. “How are you and Violeta?” 

For a moment, he only stared at her. Students passed like a current around them. Then he asked, “Are you ever going to tell me?” His voice was low and strained. 

Against her will, her eyes stung. She pressed her lips together, then adjusted her schoolbag on her shoulder. She was grateful for Scorpius’s extraordinary healing magic the night before; her scrapes and bruises were gone like they’d never existed. Except that they had. 

“I’ll tell you,” Rose said. “One day.”

He sighed and looked down at the stone floor. “I don’t understand. I thought we were closer than this. I thought we told each other everything.”

She had the sudden urge to scream at him for how childish he was. They’d told each other everything when they were _children_ , when none of their secrets had consequences. Now they were adults, or just on the verge of, and things weren’t so easy anymore. Not for her. Perhaps things were just so simple for him that he couldn’t imagine that she might be suffering on her own. She resented him for that. 

All she said was, “You’ll hate me when I tell you.”

He frowned. “I won’t hate you for anything, Rosie.” 

A year ran down her cheek and she wiped it away hastily. “How are you and Violeta?” she asked again, a shameless topic change.  The halls were almost empty now, just one or two first years still struggling their way to lunch hour. 

Albus shrugged. “Our dates go well. She _loves_ butterbeer. I’ve never met a bird with such a sweet tooth.” He cracked a small smile. “I think I’m going to ask her to go steady with me on Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day already. Rose had hardly even noticed how quickly the year was passing. She’d been so consumed by studies and Scorpius, and keeping Scorpius a secret. 

“Goodness,” she said, for lack of anything else to say. “I’m so happy for you.” And she was. Envious, but also happy. 

Albus’s smile grew, but as it widened it also tightened. He asked, “Do you think your bloke will do anything for Valentine’s?” 

The thought made her heart pound. _Stupid Rose,_ she thought. “I don’t think so,” she said firmly, to banish the butterflies in her stomach. “We don’t really have that sort of arrangement.” Her cheeks heated. 

Her cousin only shrugged again, but he was clearly a bit uncomfortable. “We’d better get to the Great Hall,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Otherwise they’re going to think that you’ve run off again.”

Facing her family—especially Roxy and Hugo—was the last thing she wanted to do, but she squared her shoulders. “I suppose you’re right.” She gestured forward. “Ladies first, Al.” 

 

Rose vomited into the toilet until her ribs ached. She hadn’t meant to throw up and in fact, she’d told herself she was only escaping to the lavatory for a moment to calm herself down. It wasn’t until she rose that her stomach heaved. She was lucky she hadn’t retched down the front of her school robes. Then her stomach clenched again and she groaned, the scent of sick only making her nausea worse. 

Their questions had been too much. Everything they asked, every insinuation they made, only reminded her of how she had really spent last night. Then once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t stop. She remembered details, like the brush of Carrow’s trousers against her inner thigh, hot breath in the soft shell of her ear. All the little cuts and bruises Scorpius healed ached with phantom pains. 

Her stomach hurt as she heaved again, but there was nothing left in her belly to come up. She collapsed back from the toilet, back pressed against the stall wall. The painted wood felt cool against the back of her neck. Rose took one deep breath, then another, until the memory of Carrow faded out of vividness once more. For a moment, she wished so sharply for Albus that it took her breath away. How had she gotten herself into this position, where she couldn’t even tell him? How would he ever forgive her when he found out? 

She rinsed her mouth out in the sink, staring listlessly at the white porcelain. Even after, her teeth still felt sticky and her mouth tasted sour. She pushed out of the girls’ lavatory and blindly into the corridor beyond. She considered going back to her dormitory, but already she’d missed too many of her morning classes. She couldn’t afford to miss any of her afternoon ones as well. 

“Rose!” a voice down the corridor called, and she glanced back over her shoulder. 

Scorpius was coming down the hall quickly, bag slung over his shoulder and heavy with textbooks. His hair was mussed and falling over his forehead and into his eyes, his long strides bringing heat to the tops of his pale cheeks. Something ached behind her chest. She had always thought him attractive, handsome, even sensual and alluring if she was being honest with herself, but never had he looked so _beautiful_ to her. 

The feeling of looking at him inspired both nausea and terror. 

“Malfoy,” she said automatically. 

He reached for her wrist. “How are you?” he asked. His eyes were a luminous silver today, though not bright with happiness. Vigilance, perhaps. 

“How _am_ I?” she repeated incredulously, but she didn’t pull her arm from his grasp. In fact, she allowed him to stroke his thumb over her pulse point as he looked down at her. He seemed to realize his mistake. 

“I meant—” The tops of his cheeks seemed to redden further. “Forget it.” 

He leaned down as if to kiss her and she stepped away. “Don’t,” she said. He looked hurt, then his expression closed. He removed his hand from her wrist. 

“I apologize,” he said, voice distant. 

Rose fisted her hands. Nothing was going as it should. She rubbed her hands over her face and said, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just been vomiting, and I don’t want to be kissed when I’ve been vomiting.” 

Scorpius looked back at her, eyebrows drawing together. “Are you sick?” he asked. 

Her stomach turned and she didn’t know what to tell them. She said, “I think I must have had something bad in the lunch hall. I’m not sure.” 

“Should you go back to bed and rest?”

She shook her head and he nodded and didn’t ask any more questions. Then he said, “If you’re not feeling too ill by tonight, perhaps you’d meet me in the room from last night?” 

They were alone in the corridor but she appreciated his small discretion nonetheless. Still, she hesitated. He said nothing and waited, gray eyes watching her like a specimen under glass. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure.” 

He said nothing for a heartbeat. Then, when she just thought he had decided to be angry, he said, “I would really like—” he sounded like he was swallowing down bile “to see you.” 

Wasn’t that what she wanted as well?

Even though saying it made her stomach twist as if about to heave once more, Rose said, “I’ll look forward to it then.”

 

His body was heavy over top of hers, weighing her down to the mattress. She could smell his cologne, as if he’d applied it freshly. She rubbed her hands down his back, feeling the slopes and valleys of his muscles. He breathed heavily into the side of her neck. She thought perhaps he was saying her name. She arched up into him, pressing her breasts to his chest and using her hands to pull him down further on top of her. Rose gasped when he ran his tongue up her neck. 

“Taste so good,” he growled. 

His cock moved inside of her, hips rolling and thrusting. He pulled himself up and levered his body above her, but her nails scrambled over his shoulders as she struggled to pull him back down. He drove hard into her, leaking between her legs as he buried himself deeper inside. She sank her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

The farther he was away from her, the faster she felt herself slipping away. If his throat wasn’t right there for her to nose and smell, then his scent became faint and ghostlike, like on his sheets in the Slytherin dormitory. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she couldn’t feel his chest pressing her down and his hands on her, then she almost imagine that it was Carrow’s chest and Carrow’s hands instead, and her eyes wandered towards the ceiling as her mind closed off. 

“Hold me down,” she whimpered. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment and she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a look of concern on his face as his cock throbbed inside of her. “Please,” she murmured, tugging on his hair. 

“Rose...” 

Hadn’t he called her that before? “Please. I know—I know it seems wrong because of what just happened,” she told him. And she knew that it did sound wrong.  

She couldn’t explain it to him—how she wanted to be able to smell _him_ , to feel the heat of _his_ body on hers, how she’d float away if he didn’t grab onto her. She needed him to hold her close so badly that it made her stomach hurt. 

Underneath him, she rocked her hips upward against his. His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned. “Just...please. It would help me.” 

And so he nodded, sliding his hands up to her wrists to pin them above her head. He kept eye contact with her as he thrust back into her, hitting her cervix. Her lips parted and his eyes darkened in response. Her breasts bounced when he pounded her harder, little gasps and mewls escaping her mouth. 

“My name,” he grunted. “Say my name.” His hands held her wrists so tightly she thought she might bruise. Her whole world in that moment as his iron-gray eyes and his cock forcing itself inside of her pussy. Her fingers twisted into the bedcovers above her head. “Malfoy,” she whispered.

“ _My name_.”

Hot tears ran down her temples, wetting her hair and the pillow below her. “Scorpius, Scorpius, Scorpius,” she murmured. It felt like something broke inside of her. He pressed his mouth to her temple, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her tears. 

“Don’t cry. I have you, Rosie. Nothing’s wrong.” 

She let out a sob as her orgasm crashed over her. With a groan, he buried his face in her throat and she felt his cum hot inside of her as his cock twitched deep in her belly. Even once she came down from her high, the tears didn’t stop. 

Everything was wrong. Nothing was ever going to be okay again, no matter what he said. Not even just because of Carrow, or her cousins, or the night before in the dormitory. 

Nothing was ever going to be okay, because she was in love with Scorpius Malfoy.


	19. Chapter 19

“Happy Valentine’s, Rosie,” Albus said, sliding into the seat next to her. “Any plans with your paramour?” His smile was tight, but she could see that he was trying. 

It only made her feel worse.

She poked at her fruit salad. Did she even want Scorpius to ask her to do anything? They had no options. Neither of them was going to risk being seen having tea together at Madam Puddifoot’s, or drinking butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. And that was when she ignored the fact that Scorpius would never, not even on a timeline as long as the Great Lake was deep, feel the same way about her. 

She was disgusted with herself. 

“Not that sort of arrangement,” she said simply, and stuck a strawberry in her mouth. Around the fruit, she asked, “What about you and Violeta?” 

He straightened his collar and this time, the smile that spread across his face was completely natural. “I’m buying her flowers and taking her to Honeydukes tonight,” he said, “and then I thought I’d buy her tea at Madam Puddifoot’s and ask her officially to be my girl.” He blushed as he spoke. “What do you think?”  
Rose thought for a moment. And she realized she didn’t know Violeta. She wasn’t sure if that was something the other girl would like. It sounded like a sweet, Albus-y date, but what sort of person was Violeta? How well were they matched? She ate a grape to buy herself time. 

Finally when she was finished chewing, Al staring at her expectantly, she said honestly, “I don’t really know her, but I know if she’s anything at all like you, she’ll go totally head-over-heels for it. It’s a very thoughtful date, Al.” 

His eyes lit. “I think she’s very much like me,” he told her absently. Then he continued. “She likes Madam Puddifoot’s because she loves their Cherry Bubble Tea Mix, but we hardly ever go there because it’s just so...frilly.” He shuddered. “But I figure since it’s a special occasion, it’s worth it to take her there. And I’ll buy her roses before we go, because roses are her favorite flower. The pink ones.” 

Rose stabbed another strawberry with her fork. “I’m positive she’ll say yes, Al. I hope you’re not worrying yourself too much.”

His pink cheeks and sheepish smile said that she’d read him exactly right, but he didn’t have the chance to reply before an owl swooped down from the ceiling and dropped a red rose in front of her, then deposited a small envelope beside her plate as well. 

Her eyes locked on the little envelope. The world closed in on itself, but she took a deep breath and reached for the small card. Familiar handwriting addressed the front of the envelope: _for Rose_. Instinctively, she looked back over her shoulder to the Slytherin dining table. Scorpius was already staring back at her as though he’d been waiting for her to look. He gave a small, inconspicuous nod, and didn’t drop his gaze until she turned around towards the letter again, feeling more stable. 

He had sent it. He was waiting to see her reaction. He was right there, and as far as she’d seen, Carrow was nowhere. 

“From that paramour?” Albus asked, leaning over to inspect the rose curiously. “Roses? Not very original, is he? You hate roses.” 

She’d always hated them when her family bought them for her, yes, but now she felt tears welling in her eyes at the thought of Scorpius Malfoy walking into a flower shop to select one perfect red rose. He must have been so uncomfortable. The thought almost made her laugh. 

Without answering Albus, she opened the envelope. All it said inside was: _Meet me in our room tonight? 9 o’clock?_ She hadn’t noticed Al reading over her shoulder, but now he said, “You’re going to meet him?” She cast him a glance that said he was being ridiculous and he smirked impishly. 

“Of course I’m going to,” she said. “Don’t be absurd. He delivered a rose.” 

Albus rolled his eyes. “You must really be smitten,” he said, turning away to cut into a link of sausage with the side of his fork. 

She was glad he wasn’t looking to see her face fall. _You must be smitten._ What a disaster she’d gotten herself into. Perhaps she shouldn’t meet him. But when she glanced back over her shoulder, he was looking over at her with such intensity that she knew she would do anything he wanted. She wanted to throw herself from the Astronomy Tower. 

This was Scorpius sodding Malfoy. Thorn in her side, Weasley-bane, the boy who’d made her and Albus’s lives a living hell growing up. He was only being so kind to her now because of what Carrow had done. If he ever learned how daft she’d been to let her own feelings grow so out of control, he’d be furious. Or perhaps he’d simply laugh in her face. The thought almost brought her relief. Maybe she should tell him, so that he would be finished with her and she could stop feeling like this. 

Or it was a possibility that she was only feeling like this because of Carrow. She knew that people were prone to exacerbate their emotions—positive and negative—in times of great distress. Perhaps once her feelings about what happened settled, her newly-realized feelings for Scorpius would fade back into the background as well. 

But if they were in the background again, wouldn’t that still mean they were still there?

⚯͛

She wasn’t there when he arrived in the Room of Requirement, but he sat down in the provided armchair. Scorpius knew she would come. He had to believe that she would, because the thought of being away from her tonight made his skin feel too tight around his bones. His heart stuttered when the doorknob twisted. 

Rose looked worn. 

Even her hair looked less vibrant, laying limper around her face. Her small smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and her cheeks were pale. His heart sank at the sight of her. He stood when she closed the door behind herself, her robes covering her body from his eyes. He didn’t like that either. 

She looked over his shoulder and said, “I like the bed.”

It was draped in Gryffindor colors, the bedspread rich and red, golden curtains hanging down around the mattress. Ready to enclose them in their own world. Except that there was something so lost in her gaze when she looked at him that it gave Scorpius pause. 

He asked, “Do you want to get into it?” 

She looked at him, then back at the bed. At him, then back at the bed. Finally, she said, “You bought me a rose.” 

It wasn’t what he thought she would say. Despite himself, he felt a flush rise to the tops of his cheekbones. He couldn’t tell if she was happy with it or not. Perhaps despite her name, she hated roses. Or—worse—perhaps _because_ of her name she hated them. He sighed and asked, “Did you like it?”

“You bought me a rose,” she repeated. 

A bit confused, he said, “I did.” 

“It was thoughtful of you.” 

Scorpius didn’t know what to say. She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. He couldn’t blame her; lately, Scorpius felt as if he didn’t know himself either. A year ago, he wouldn’t even have considered buying flowers for a bird, yet here he was. In the midst of everything, he found himself wanting to do something to make her smile. But she hadn’t smiled at him once, or thanked him. Instead, she stared at him. 

“I—” He cleared his throat. “I felt like you deserved it. After everything.”

Rose nodded. Then she took a step towards him, her hands hanging at her sides. He wanted to draw her into him, to hold her underneath him while he rocked inside of her. He remembered the exact sound of her whimpering his name as he pounded into her. 

Before, he’d thought it would be enough to have her once and sate his hunger. That if he could fuck her, then she would be out of his system once and for all. Carrow’s comments wouldn’t touch him anymore, and she would stop drawing his attention every time she walked past. He was wrong. 

He wasn’t hungry for her; he was addicted. 

“Thank you,” Rose said softly. 

Scorpius toed his right shoe off, then his left. He felt her stare burning into him. He reached to undo his belt. 

“Are you coming to bed?” he asked her. 

She bit her lip and glanced down to where his hands lay at his belt. Then she shrugged one shoulder, letting her robe fall down. She brushed the other sleeve down and let them pool at her feet. His blood quickened. Her skirt brushed the tops of her thighs, knee high socks covering her calves. She’d clearly grown out of the skirt years ago, but worn it for him anyway. He tightened his hands on his belt. 

“I’m coming to bed,” Rose said. 

He nodded. “Leave your clothes on.” 

The shirt could go, but he wanted to fuck her in that tiny skirt with her knee-highs on.

She climbed onto the bed and he dropped his trousers to the floor and pulled his shirt over his head. The pillows were gold to match the hanging curtains and her hair, spread out on top of the satin, contrasted perfectly. Already, her eyes were low as he parted the curtains and knelt over her. 

Her hands came up to his arms, nails digging into his triceps as he lowered his hips against hers. Her legs parted immediately, thighs brushing against his sides. She cradled his body in hers perfectly and he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and savor it. His cock hardened against the heat behind her knickers. He took a deep breath to keep himself from ripping them off her and plunging inside. 

That wasn’t what she needed, Scorpius knew that. Last time, she asked him to hold her down and he hadn’t understood at the time, but he thought he did now. She needed to be immersed in him, the same way he craved to drown in her. The thought went straight to his ego and unfortunately, did nothing to calm his desperation. 

He buried his face in the side of her neck and took a deep breath. Everything about her seemed to made to draw him in closer; the caress of her hair on his cheeks, her scent, her hands smoothing down his arms, her hips grinding so softly against him, separated only by his briefs and her knickers. Scorpius already felt high on her and he’d barely touched her yet. His cock throbbed and she hadn’t even touched _him_. 

“Scorpius,” she whined, and he growled into her throat. 

He hadn’t known how tired he was of hearing his surname in her mouth until he heard her say his name instead. 

“Going to fuck you until you can’t breathe,” he snarled, shoving against her. “Until you can’t think, until the only thing you can say is _my_ name.” Impatiently, he pushed his briefs down his hips to free his cock and pressed himself against the damp center of her knickers. He couldn’t stop the words pouring out. “You’re mine, I own you. Only ever going to say _my_ name, cry for _me,_  beg for _my_ cock. Mine, Rosie, you’re mine.” 

Her breath came in sobbing little gasps at his ear. She clung to his shoulders like she’d be washed away if she didn’t. It was exactly what he wanted—for her to be dependent on him, to _need_ him. “ _Say it_ ,” he growled. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed herself against him. “Yours. Yours, Scorpius, I promise. I’m yours.” Her voice sounded breathy and shattered. 

Unable to help himself any longer, he ripped himself away from her hold and yanked her knickers down her legs. It took all of his self control not to shred them from her hips. When her pussy was bare to him, he paused. 

Her pussy was swollen and leaking down to her ass, her lips such a dark pink as to be almost red. In that moment, he wanted so many different things—to force himself inside of her, to fall onto his belly and lick her until she sobbed, to feel her clench and gush on his fingers. But he couldn’t do it all at once. So instead he caught her eyes, glazed with need, and said, “Hook your hands under your knees and hold your legs apart.”

Her honey-colored eyes widened as her cheeks flushed but she obeyed. It felt like being punched in the stomach to watch as she slid her hands under her knees and opened herself up to his gaze, calves falling against thighs and hips sliding forwards. That little skirt rucked up around her waist… He exhaled harshly. Her pussy glistened and he could see when she clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled. 

Scorpius leaned forward and traced a fingertip around her entrance. Her head fell back to the pillow and she let out a low cry. 

Addicted, addicted, addicted. 

“Scorpius,” she begged. “Please. Fill me.” 

“How?” He teased her again, barely pushing a finger inside of her, then withdrawing again. Her hips followed him.

“With your fingers,” she said. “I want you to fill me up with your fingers.” 

He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, but he was unable to resist swiping his tongue up her pussy. She cried out and she yanked on her knees, opening her cunt further. While she was distracted, he forced a finger into her. She clamped down on him as though to stop him from withdrawing. 

He kissed her thigh again and asked, “Can you take two fingers already?” 

“ _Please_ ,” was her only answer. 

He slipped another finger in beside the first, watching the rim of her pussy stretch and redden further. A trickle of arousal ran past his fingers and he licked it up without thinking. Rose moaned and tossed her head. 

He twisted and scissored his fingers inside of her, her slick walls massaging him. His cock throbbed and leaked against his thigh. He laid his forehead on her hip to catch his breath and calm himself down. Rose needed rough, intense, but not harsh. He wanted her lost in him, not trapped. He needed her to crave the safety he made her feel with him. 

“I need you,” he gasped without thinking. “Rose, you’re so—I—”

He couldn’t find the words to tell her what he wanted. He felt a pressure in his chest that he didn’t know how to relieve. For a second, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes sought Rose’s and when their gazes caught, she seemed to see. 

Releasing her knees, she reached down for him, stroking hands over his shoulders. “Fuck me,” she murmured, voice weak from his twisting fingers. Her eyes were soft. “Scorpius, come inside of me. Please.” 

He was utterly helpless. He braced his hands beside her head, muscles in his arms bunching. Once again, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he pressed the head of his cock into her pussy. He meant to go slow, to keep controlled, but she dug her heels into his ass and he slammed forward. Her cunt leaked around him and she closed her eyes, biting her lip. He brushed a kiss over her cheekbone. 

“Always so wet for my cock,” he murmured. He thrust forward again and her breasts bounced. “Look at me,” he commanded when her eyes stayed closed. “Let me see you.” 

Slowly, her eyes opened. She blinked up at him, eyes fluttering closed again when he tipped his hips up on the in-stroke, catching that soft spot inside of her cunt. He tsked and she looked back at him. 

“I want to watch you while you come on my cock,” he whispered. She nodded, those eyes wide and luminous. “Touch yourself,” he told her, and her hand slid between their bodies to rub her clit. 

He couldn’t not come when he felt her start to clench and roll on his cock. He refused to take his eyes from her even as he jerked and poured into her cunt. He clenched his fist in her hair, keeping her from turning her face away when her eyes started to roll. “Perfect,” he said, tugging her hair. “Perfect.”

Scorpius rolled off of her when her pussy released him. His chest rose and fell and he raked a hand through his hair. He wished he had a drink. Rose was still only for a moment before she tossed her legs over the side of the bed. Her flushed skin was beautiful against the deep red of the bedspread. She smoothed down her skirt and glanced towards where her robes lay on the floor. 

“Going back already?” he asked. He didn’t know if he should right his clothes as well, leave behind her. 

He’d almost expected her to stay. 

“We have school in the morning,” she said, and didn’t look at him. She crossed to her robes and picked them up, slipping them on. 

He didn’t know what to say. That was true. She was right. So he yanked his trousers up and buttoned them before doing up his belt again. He raked another hand through his hair to smooth it down. 

The thought of leaving her made him feel raw. Imagining laying in bed surrounded by his dorm mates, including the Scamanders and Carrow, made his stomach tighten with rage. Zabini would be furious with his restless energy, but even as satisfied as he felt by Rose, he still had so much left over. But he couldn’t ask her to stay, so there was nothing else to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know how your feels are doing! I see some of you sensing that we're in the rising action and third act. Things ramp up from here and I hope everyone is going to be satisfied. :)


	20. Chapter 20

Lily Luna grabbed Rose on her way to her first class, headed out of the Gryffindor Common Room. She caught Rose by the elbow and said, “Albus, Violeta, and I are going to Hogsmeade today after classes. Did you want to come?”

Rose was surprised and for a moment, she hesitated. She hadn’t been out with her family in...months, now that she thought of it. The weight of lying always seemed heavier when she was around them, and so she avoided them. But the thought of spending time with Al was irresistible, and Lily Luna, too. She nodded along and said, “I’d love to. What time?”

“Should we say ‘round three o’clock?” Lily Luna asked.

Rose smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

 

The Three Broomsticks was full of Hogwarts students when Rose and her family went inside. They waited for a booth big enough to seat the four of them to open while Albus and Violeta held hands. Lily Luna watched them with a little smile on her face. Rose was glad to see them so happy, but mostly, she wanted a butterbeer. It had been a while since she’d been to Hogsmeade. 

When they finally sat down, Violeta said, “So, Albus tells me you’re seeing someone, Rose?” 

Lily Luna chuckled into her own glass of butterbeer. 

Awkwardly, Rose said, “Sort of. Did Albus happen to give you any details about that?” She cast a meaningful look at her best mate, who at least had the decency to look a little chastised. 

Violeta said serenely, “He told me a little.”

Rose didn’t know if she should feel affronted by the personal line of questioning. She looked again at Al and then said, “We’re not necessarily...romantically involved, for many reasons. It’s simply a mutually beneficial arrangement.” The words made her throat burn. 

If she thought Violeta would act scandalized, she didn’t. She nodded as though she understood. “You’re alright with that?”

Rose took a long drink of her butterbeer. She shrugged. “What sort of question is that? I suppose it is what it is. We both made our intentions very clear in the beginning.”

“Even if your intentions have changed?”

Lily Luna made an interested humming noise in the back of her throat. 

Rose stared at Violeta for several heartbeats. Then she said simply, because it was the only thing to say, “It doesn’t matter if my intentions have changed.”

Albus’s eyebrows drew together at that. “Have your intentions changed?” 

Rose rubbed two fingers to her temple. Luckily, just as she was about to reply, the door of the pub opened and Scorpius Malfoy walked into the Three Broomsticks. He was alone and winked as he passed her. If Rose hadn’t been watching him out of the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t have noticed. He continued on to the back of the pub and she heard the sound of the door to the men’s lavatory closing. 

Without responding to Albus’s question, Rose said, “I’m going to use the restroom, please excuse me.”

“Enjoy,” Lily Luna said absently. 

Rose paused as she stood, glancing at her cousin. Lily Luna’s eyes were neutral and she took a demure sip of her drink. Rose said nothing else, but left the table and walked to the back of the pub. 

Thankfully, the door to the lavatory was out of her booth’s line of sight. She took a cursory glance around the room before pushing the door open and disappearing inside. Scorpius leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. He smirked when she entered, looking frazzled. 

She said, “You just saved me from the most awkward conversation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you’re in my debt then, aren’t you? How do you plan to pay me back?”

Rose held back a smile. She stepped forward and pushed her hands into his shoulders, shoving him further into the wall. He kissed her hard, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue. He groaned when she pulled away to scrape her teeth over a tendon in his neck, to lick over his collarbone. Her hands moved down his body, in control in a way that he rarely let her be. 

His chest was firm under her palms, his stomach rigid with muscle under his fancy cotton shirt. She nipped at his neck again. Her hand brushed over his hipbone and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

He breathed her name and something twisted in her chest. 

With both hands wrapped in the hem of his shirt, she used her leverage to steer him backwards into a stall. The last thing they needed was for Albus or someone else who could recognize them to walk in. He let her. Rose locked the door behind them, then spun him to put his back against the worn wood.

“Sweet Salazar,” he hissed when she palmed his cock through his trousers. She played at his belt noncommittally. 

Her heart jumped at every hiss and groan that left his mouth. Each one felt like a compliment, like praise just for her. She reminded herself that a thousand other girls saw him like this. Scorpius Malfoy had slept with half of Hogwarts; it didn’t matter what she thought of this. This was nothing special. 

But when he leaned down to kiss her, she had to admit that it was different now that she’d realized how she felt. 

Against his mouth, she said, “We don’t have much time. My family is waiting out there for me.”  
Eyes on his, Rose sank to her knees to bring her mouth to join her fingers at his hips. She pulled apart his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. He stared down at her, silver eyes molten. She yanked down his trousers and his cock sprang out, hard and thick and right before her lips. She wrapped her hand around him, then pressed her lips to the tip of his cock. He groaned her name again and reached for her hair. That was all the encouragement she needed to lean down again.

Licking a stripe up him, Rose smothered a noise when he groaned. Then she took him into her mouth fully and he made a sound like he was swallowing his tongue. Her grip on his thigh tightened as she bobbed her head faster. He was straining, his hands buried in her hair. She moaned as he tugged.   
She pulled off him, licking her lips. Rose rested her cheek against his thigh, watching him. His own eyes were open, watching her back. It hurt to look at him. He pulled his hands from her hair, grabbing her arms instead. He yanked her up to him and she took a quick breath before he pushed his mouth to hers. 

She gasped when he wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her up around his waist. Momentarily afraid, she clung to his shoulders. He didn’t have to coax her to sling her legs around his hips; she did it for fear of falling. 

But hadn’t she already?

Scorpius dug his fingers into her arse and she whimpered. Bending her head, she laid open-mouthed kisses over his neck. She flicked her tongue over his pulse, his breathy chuckle music to her ears.

She should have been thinking about loving him. She should have been thinking about Albus, and Lily Luna, and Violeta, all sitting at a table waiting for her to return. She should have been thinking about how she was ruining her own life, right this very moment, but she couldn’t. All she could think about was Scorpius.   
She slipped her hands into his tousled hair, clinging to him like he could drop her at any second. Her other hand slid under his shirt to feel the hot skin of his flank.

“I need you,” Scorpius panted. “I need you so bad.” 

“Don’t say that,” she murmured.

Then his fingers pushed her knickers to the side, shoving at the fabric of her skirt. She barely had time to catch her breath before his cock was inside of her. He groaned against her breast, resting his forehead against her collarbone. “Merlin, Scorpius,” she gasped. “Hurry, please.”  
Thankfully, he obliged. 

She gripped his shoulders tight as he slammed into her, hanging on for dear life. Wet, slick sounds filled the air, the smell of sex intoxicating. The pleasure clawed at her from the inside out. Tears ran down her cheeks and she tightened her legs around his waist, feeling his thrusts get sloppy. 

 _He needs me_. 

_He needs me._

_He needs me._

As she split apart, coming with a new intensity, she felt him still inside of her, filling her. She bit her lip to keep quiet, afraid to be too loud, afraid of what she would say if she had the chance. Thankfully, all that came out when her lips finally parted was, “ _Scorpius_.”

 

Rose sat back down at her family’s table, sliding into the booth next to Lily Luna. “Damn, Rosie,” Albus said. “You were gone a long time.”

She breathed through the swell of panic. Scorpius swept past their table and she forced herself not to glance at him. She heard the jingle of the bell at the door, and he was gone. Reaching for her butterbeer, now sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table top, she rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t be rude, Albus,” she said, because it was the first thing that came to mind. 

She missed the knowing look that Lily Luna sent her before sipping her butterbeer.


	21. Chapter 21

Scorpius felt like he was drowning looking at her. Spread out on the bed underneath him, her hair tangled and cheeks pink, she looked like something imagined and unreal. His chest was tight, and only tightened further when she blinked up at him. 

Her _eyes_. Golden like caramel, like honey, like newly-minted Galleons. 

Looking at her now, he almost felt sorry for Carrow and for her cousins, who would never see her like this. For a quick, staccato heartbeat, he almost understood what drove them to do it: this crushing desperation like the weight of a hundred stones. 

If he didn’t have her right then, it would kill him. 

If he couldn’t have her like this, every day, for the rest of forever, he would die. 

“Rose,” he growled, and her eyes opened fully. 

She reached a hand up to brush his hair back. Her fingers were gentle where they brushed his hairline. When had that happened, her being gentle with him? He ran a hand down her side, feeling the hills and valleys of her ribs, the concave between the slope of her hipbone and the bottom of her ribcage. When had that happened, him being gentle with her? 

He clenched his hand around her hip. “Roll over,” he commanded, and his cock throbbed when she did so without complaint. 

He bent forward to press a kiss to her tailbone. Twin dimples made perfect rests for his thumbs. She shuddered under his hands. “Please,” she whispered, and his heart jumped. 

He wanted to sink his teeth into her, to rip chunks out of her, to pull her apart completely. If he could have unhinged his jaw and swallowed her whole, he would have in that moment. It was as though she was a part of him but didn’t know it, and every second she spent outside of him, walking and breathing and living as though she was her own person, as if she didn’t belong inside of him, made him feral. 

That feeling was so powerful that he could almost mistake it for hatred again. 

But he couldn’t now. 

“Scorpius, _please_.”

Her back arched, baring her arse to him. He pressed his hands to the insides of her thighs and pushed her legs further apart. He let out a heavy breath. Her cunt was puffy and glistening with her arousal, her pussy lips swollen and parted. Above that, her tiny arse. She flinched away when he brushed a finger over her there and his mouth watered.

She was so beautiful.

Scorpius took a deep breath. “We’re playing with fire here, Rosie.” 

“Don’t say that. I know that. _More_.” 

He drug his thumb down her cunt, parting her lips. Her slickness clung to the pad of his thumb and he groaned. He bent his head and she whined when he licked up her slit. She tasted completely like herself and Scorpius couldn’t help but bite down on the crease of her arse and thigh. He pushed one finger, then two, inside of her and her pussy clenched around him like a vice. 

“Salazar, so tight,” he growled. With his free hand, he fisted his cock, precum running over his fingers. He could barely remember what other witches felt like, or why he’d ever sought them out. 

He was damned for this. 

Rose cried out when he twisted his fingers, fingertips digging into that sweet spot deep inside of her. Her hair was wild over the pillows and a few strands clung damply to her face when she turned her head to look back at him. Anger lashed in his chest and he shoved his hand into her hair to push her face away, though his palm and fingers were wet with his own precum. She went limp in his grasp, so good. 

Watching the way her sides expanded as she breathed, he traced one finger from her cunt up to her arse. She was so little and pink here. If she hadn’t taken him in her arse before, he might have doubted that she could. But any part of her would expand to fit him. She took him perfectly. 

Her breath caught when he slid a finger into her tiny hole. She was so hot, wet from her arousal on his fingers. A dark, terrible part of him wanted to knock her down onto her belly and force his way inside of her. He wanted to rip and tear her, so that even if she walked away from him, she’d never be able to forget him. She’d have to feel him every day, every time she fucked another bloke, for the rest of her life. 

But the thought of hurting her made his stomach turn. 

Her hips rolled under his touch. “More,” she moaned—a small, shuddering moan. “Scorpius.”

She knew exactly what hearing his name did to him. He stretched forward, let his lips ghost against her ear. “Already?” he whispered, making his voice soft. “Rosie, what if you’re not ready? What if I hurt you?”

She shivered and tried to turn her head, but he kept her still with his grip in her hair. “Then you hurt me,” she murmured. 

He snarled in her ear and shoved another finger into her arse. Her eyes fell closed and her lips parted. Looking at her hurt his chest and ached his cock. 

He stretched her slowly, scissoring his fingers inside of her. When her flesh no longer fought him, he slid a third in. She sighed and the sound made his heart throb. The sound made his mouth bitter. He said nothing as he levered himself above her, her form small and rosy beneath his own. He pressed the head of his cock against the tight ring of her arse, pulling away when she whimpered. Absently, he spit into his palm and wiped it onto his head before he pushed against her once more. 

This time, her legs spread and her hips lowered, her whole body sinking down to submit to him. It gave him a hot rush of pleasure, rivaled only by the sensation of her arse tightening around the length of his cock. He kept it together for one breath, then two, then three, before he snapped. 

Scorpius wrapped both arms around her waist and dragged her up against him, his chest to the curve of her spine. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her mouth open at his jugular vein and her breath fast and hot. He pinched one nipple between two fingers, loving how her back arched to encourage him. Her breast was heavy in his hand, her belly soft under his other palm. He thrust up into her and she cried out. 

He did it again. Then again. Each thrust was punctuated by one of her helpless cries, the slap of their skin resounding through the Room. He felt too close to the edge already, but there was nothing to be done. This was even better—even worse—than the day so many months ago in the Forbidden Forest. It was as though she was trying to pull him deeper inside of her, impossibly deeper. 

He felt like she was pulling him apart. 

This wasn’t living up to the Malfoy name. This wasn’t what anyone expected of him. This was something someone else would do; this was someone else’s life. But it wasn’t. It was his, and _she was his_. 

His fingers found her clit and he demanded, “Come.”

She whined again and shook her head, but he rubbed harder against her, thrusting into her arse harder than before. “Come,” he repeated, but he wouldn’t again. If she didn’t want to do it for him, then he would force it on her. Either way, she was going to come when he filled her up. And despite her shaking and whimpering, he felt her hot flesh clench down around his shaft, a rush of arousal running over them both as she came. 

Her head hung down limply and he pressed his mouth to her shoulder blade as he throbbed and jerked in her arse. Hot cum ran out of her down the base of his cock. He dug his forehead into the crest of her shoulder, gritting his teeth. 

What was he doing? 

⚯͛ 

Rose woke up hours later, sheets tangled around her ankles. Her body ached when she tried to roll over, but was stopped by a heavy weight laying over her waist. She looked down. 

Scorpius had laid an arm over her belly as they slept, and his hand now loosely clutched the bedspread on the other side of her, effectively pinning her into him. Slowly, she craned her neck back to look at him. 

His face was soft in the dim, sourceless light of the Come and Go Room. His cornsilk eyelashes lay against the tops of his cheekbones, mouth barely parted. Pale, sleepy color flushed his cheeks and a strand of hair fell over his forehead. He looked untouchable. Not in the way of a cruel, far-away boy, as she thought before, but instead in the way of a perfect, finely-carved statue. 

Bravely, she traced one finger across the bone of his wrist. His breathing didn’t change and he stayed asleep. For just a moment, really only a heartbeat, Rose allowed herself to imagine that they were true lovers, and that this would be the way they fell asleep many more nights after this one. 

Then she turned over and shut her eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

She couldn’t keep her hands off of him. She should have; it was wrong, now that she knew, to keep letting herself have him, but she couldn’t stop him from casting her those dark, heavy looks, or brushing the backs of his knuckles against her knee under their desk, and after that she couldn’t stop herself either.

Rose could still feel the heavy weight of his arm across her waist, the press of his chest at her back. 

His robes pooled around his feet, his cock thrust deep inside of her until she whined. A broom fell over and knocked into her shoulder before continuing to the ground. She bit down on Scorpius’s lower lip and he yanked her head back by her hair and fucked into her faster, as if he was angry. The close quarters of the closet pressed his whole body against hers. The collar of her dress shirt gaped open and he mouthed messily at her collarbones, growling. 

Perhaps she had angered him.

She sank her nails into his shoulders and held on. This time, he was cruel with his need for her. He’d already shredded one of her favorite pairs of knickers. As hot as it was, she still wasn’t entirely happy about it. The tatters of her knickers laid atop of his discarded school robes.

One of his hands gripped her arse, pulling her up and down on his cock. Her breasts shook, nearly spilling out of her brassiere. Her arse would be bruised when he was finished with her. She still ached from the previous night. 

“Scorpius,” she murmured, and squirmed. 

He hissed. “So hot for me. Gods, _I love you_ like this.”

A strangled sound escaped the back of her throat. The words clattered around in her head, jangling with each thrust of his hips. It was as if it knocked something loose inside of her and her hands on his shoulders pushed now instead of clung. 

“Scorpius, wait. I have to—I need to talk to you about—”

In hindsight, she was about to ruin her life anyway, so perhaps it wasn’t such a problem that Albus Potter did it for her. 

The broom closet door swung open and the light blinded her. Scorpius cursed and dropped her, reaching for the door handle to pull it closed, but then—

“What the hell is going on here?”

 _No_. 

“ _Rose?_ ”

“No,” she said. 

Scorpius threw his whole body out of the broom closet, struggling to yank his button down closed. Her body moved on auto-pilot; her arms pulled down her skirt, her fingers fumbled to do up the top buttons of her own shirt. She almost slipped on Scorpius’s discarded robes, but caught herself on the threshold. 

In the light of the corridor stood her best friend in the whole world, looking at her like he didn’t know at all. 

Scorpius’s shirt was buttoned wrong, scratch marks on his shoulder still half-exposed, pale skin shining in the light. His platinum hair was spiked, his lips red from kissing. From kissing her. 

Rose couldn’t even imagine what she looked like. 

Her eyes still hurt from the harsh adjustment. Albus looked at her and she blinked back. Then he looked at Scorpius. Scorpius let him land the first punch, but caught his wrist on the second and pulled him close. 

“Hit me again, Potter, and I’ll break your sodding wrist.” 

Too late, Rose rushed forward. She put her hands out, but stopped when Albus flinched away from her, yanking out of Scorpius’s grip to step back. 

“This is _him,_ ” Albus spat her. “ _Isn’t it_?”

Her hands hung limp at her sides. She said, “Al, if you could—if we could all just calm down—”

“Scorpius _Malfoy_? You’ve been letting _Scorpius bloody Malfoy_ shag you? This whole time? And lying to me about it! Godric Gryffindor, Rose.” 

Then he spat at her feet. 

Hot tears ran down her face. Scorpius drew his arm up, fist clenched, but Rose flung herself at him to catch his wrist. The muscles of his forearm flexed under her grip. Already, a bruise was rising on his cheekbone. 

“ _No_ ,” she commanded. “Scorpius, for the love of Merlin, _don’t_.”

Everything was spiraling so quickly out of her control that she had no hope of stopping it. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears and pretend it wasn’t happening. But it was, right in front of her. She tried to take a deep breath, but it came out as a sob. Albus stood like a bull ready to charge. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Albus said, and it was quiet. 

She bit her lip. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand everything I need to! He’s a man-whore, and you’re another dumb broad he’s going to carve into his bedpost.”

“That’s not—”

“True? If you don’t think so, you’re stupider than I thought.”

A whip cracked in her chest. He wasn’t listening, he wasn’t even letting her _talk_. The words flew out of her mouth before she could snatch them back, finally free. 

“He was there for me when _you weren’t_!” 

The corridor had been empty before, but now students were set free from their classes, and noise filled the space between them. For a heartbeat, she thought—prayed—he hadn’t heard her. But then his face froze and she knew that he had. 

“When I wasn’t? And when was that, Rose?”

She meant to say nothing, because it wasn’t fair. She knew that it wasn’t fair. Then Scorpius said, “Why don’t you ask your cousins?”

In an impressive show of abject confusion, all of the rage melted from Albus’s face. “My cousins?” he demanded. As if realizing what he’d done, Scorpius took a step backwards, his shoulder beside Rose’s. Albus looked at her. “What’re you going to let him say about our cousins, Rosie?”

Her heart beat irregularly quick. They weren’t drawing a crowd yet, but they would soon, and if everyone else was listening, she couldn’t say it. Was she really going to say it? But after all, wasn’t it time for him to know? Didn’t she want him to? And if he hated her for saying it, well then, he hated her already, didn’t he? 

“Our cousins—the Scamanders—and Carrow, they—” She fisted her hands in her skirt. She couldn’t get a sentence out without stammering like an invalid. 

She barely met Scorpius’s eyes when he glanced her way, then said, “Held her down in my bed and tried to rape her like animals, since you asked.” 

If the situation had been out of control before, she had no hope of wrangling it now. Albus tackled Scorpius to the floor, fists flying, and then Rose was on the floor as well, yanking on someone’s shirt until the seams split, trying to pry them apart. A voice above them all said, “By Godric, lads!” but no other hands came down to help her. 

She was crying again, if she’d ever stopped, great sobs aching her chest. “Stop, stop, stop,” she chanted. 

“ _Immobulus_!”

Rose had never been hit by the Freezing Charm, but she didn’t like it. All of her limbs seized, her fingers cramping painfully where they clutched the hem of Scorpius’s shirt. She couldn’t turn her head to watch Headmistress McGonagall approach, but she heard the sound of her robes dragging along the stone floor. Her arm ached, and she thought maybe someone had accidentally hit her there. 

The headmistress was kind enough to stand in Rose’s line of sight, though she didn’t know if the boys could see her as well. She wore a stern expression, her eyebrows and lips pulled down into a frown. 

Headmistress McGonagall sighed. “A Potter, a Weasley, and a Malfoy. Oh dear heavens, what have you all done to each other now?”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to HadleyJo and Lucid for their comments; highkey they're the reason y'all are getting three chapters in one week! ;)

Headmistress McGonagall unfroze them so that she could herd them into her office. They stood quietly in the moving staircase until Albus said, “I can’t even believe you—”

Scorpius said, “Close your mouth—”

“Just because you’re shagging my cousin doesn’t mean you can tell me how to talk to h—” 

“ _Enough_ ,” Headmistress McGonagall said. 

The staircase fell silent. Another tear ran down Rose’s cheek. Covertly, the back of Scorpius’s knuckles brushed against the back of her own. She bit her lip to fight back another flood of tears. Albus stiffened further beside them. He was the first to leave when the staircase turned and the entrance was revealed. 

Rose only stepped out once both McGonagall and Scorpius were well into the office. Then she took a deep breath and went after them. 

“Have a seat, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said, though she herself was the only one sitting. Rose looked at her for a moment.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” she said. 

Albus threw himself down in one of the leather armchairs. 

The headmistress asked, “Can anyone explain to me what I witnessed today in the corridor?” None of them answered. She turned her eyes on Scorpius. “Perhaps you, Mr. Malfoy, can explain what you and Miss Weasley were doing?”

“You won’t want to know,” Albus grumbled, and McGonagall shot him a terrible glance. 

Rose put her head in her hands. Scorpius was smart enough not to touch her. She couldn’t think of a way to make this better. They were caught red-handed now. Her family would know now—not just her cousins and her brother, but her parents, her aunts, her uncles. Her _grandmother_ would know. She let out a low sound of misery. 

McGonagall sighed and removed her spectacles. She looked at them sternly. “You understand, if none of you are willing to elucidate the situation for me, then I will simply have to assume the worst.”

“Whatever you can assume,” Albus said, “is probably what happened.”

Scorpius said nothing.

Rose said nothing. 

The headmistress sighed again. “I will be writing to all of your parents. Do not let me see anything like this ever again.” 

Rose didn’t need to hear anything else to know that she was dismissed. 

 

She should have skipped supper. Word spread like wildfire. Corridor gossip or Albus running his mouth, she didn’t know. She sat down at the Gryffindor beside Lily Luna. Albus was, unsurprisingly, missing. She closed her eyes when she saw Hugo opening his mouth, tops of his cheekbones already red. 

“Scorpius Malfoy?” her younger brother exclaimed. He spoke like the words were tripping out of his mouth. “How? _Why_? You hate him! Don’t you remember third year? He put weasels in your bed, Rosie! And forth year? You tried to freeze his prick off—I do still feel a little sorry for the bloke about that but I suppose you get what you—” 

“Hugo,” Roxanne admonished. 

Rose pressed her fingertips to her eyes and said nothing. Beside her, Lily Luna murmured, “So that’s the paramour.” Then, after a pause, she said, “I did think that I saw you two.” 

Rose opened her eyes to look at her cousin. Lily Luna’s luminous blue eyes looked back at her. “What?” Rose asked. 

“By the forest,” Lily Luna said. 

Rose’s cheeks flushed. “Please, never talk to me about this ever again.” 

She hoped Lily Luna hadn’t stuck around to see what happened once they went _into_ the forest. The thought made her want to curl up into a ball underneath the supper table. It only got worse when Roxanne said, “By the forest? I suppose he is a handsome bloke. You could do worse there, Rosie.” 

Rose reached for her goblet and took a long draw from it to give her an excuse not to answer. Albus was smart not to come tonight, though she knew he’d most likely just been avoiding her. Her chest stung. _I expected better of you._ A few months ago, she would have understood. But now, how couldn’t he see what she saw? How couldn’t he see Scorpius like she did? 

Albus was almost certainly wondering the exact same thing about her. 

She took a deep breath. When had everything gotten so twisted up? But she knew the answer. Falling in love with Scorpius Malfoy wasn’t even the problem; she never should have let him touch her to begin with. She should have shoved him away when he caught her that day in the Great Hall. She never should have went to him in the Astronomy Tower. She’d known that it would all go wrong, and now that it had, she had no one to blame but herself. 

She would be surprised if Albus ever spoke to her again. 

⚯͛ 

He wanted to see her, but he was certain that was the last thing that she wanted. He hoped she’d go to dinner. As far as he’d seen, Potter hadn’t left the dormitory since McGonagall dismissed them from her office. _So dramatic,_ he thought. He hoped he was still alive in there. Rose would be unhappy with him if he let her melodramatic cousin off himself in the room next-door. 

Marcus Carrow was the last person on the planet that he wanted to see, so naturally, Carrow made sure to seek him out. He stood in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed over his chest, blocking the entrance to the Great Hall. Students rolled their eyes and moved around him, but no one dared to try to move him. A smug smirk pulled at his mouth when he saw Scorpius approaching. 

Scorpius tried to do as everyone else was doing and made to step around him. “Get out of my way, Carrow,” he said. Carrow twisted to block him again. 

“So,” he said. “I heard you haven’t gotten bored with the She-Weasel yet. Do you think she’ll cry rape now that her precious family has found out she’s laying down with the likes of you? Seems to be a habit of hers.”

 _I tried,_ Scorpius thought. 

Then he threw himself on Carrow. 

His nose crunched when Scorpius’s fist connected. They were both on the floor, Carrow’s shoulders grinding into the unrelenting stone. Scorpius bore all of his body weight down on the man below him. Carrow twisted one hand in his hair and made as if to shove the heel of his hand into Scorpius’s chin, but Scorpius landed another hit and the grip in his hair went weak. 

“What a cock-up,” a girl’s voice from above them said disdainfully. Her footsteps went around them and into the Great Hall. 

“Someone find Zabini!” a boy called—most likely another Slytherin. 

“You hailed?” quipped a deep voice. Then familiar hands seized Scorpius’s shoulders. “By Salazar,” Zabini said at his ear, ripping him off Carrow. “Are you trying to get expelled today, mate? Then who would use all the maple syrup at breakfast?” 

Panting, Scorpius shrugged him off and wiped his mouth. Red blood smeared the back of his hand. He spat the blood in his mouth at Carrow, who was still breathing hard on the ground. Zabini straightened his cuffs, nonplussed. Carrow’s nose was crushed at an odd angle; he’d need to go to the medical wing to have it fixed. Scorpius doubted that _he_ was any less than rubbish at healing spells. 

“Just working off a bit of nervous energy,” he said casually. 

Zabini clapped his shoulder and guided him towards the doors of the Great Hall. “Well, hope you worked up an appetite. I know I have.”

Scorpius raked a hand through his hair to push it back into place and allowed Zabini to urge him to the Slytherin table. He sat down there, but his eyes went immediately to the Gryffindor table. There she was. Her head was ducked, her cheeks flushed, and her cousin absent. Tendrils of curly, crimson hair fell around her face. Though his eyes lingered, she never looked up to meet his gaze. 

An owl swooped down, flapping towards the Gryffindor table. Beside him, Zabini made a small sound of surprise. Scorpius knew it was going to be nothing good when the owl landed in front of Rose’s plate. Rose herself seemed to think the same, as she set her head down on the table and put her hand out. 

The owl dropped a small, red envelope into her palm. 

It leapt up from her palm, unfolding itself into a wide mouth. Rose didn’t lift her head from the wood grain table even when the shouting started. 

“ _Rose Granger-Weasley_! I expected better of you! How could you disgrace yourself with a _Malfoy_? How could you disgrace _this family_ with a _Malfoy_?” Its long paper tongue hung obscenely out of its bared teeth, wagging as it yelled. Scorpius did not hear Ron Weasley’s voice often, so it took him a moment to recognize it now. 

Half of the students trained their eyes on Rose, the other half on Scorpius. He stared them down. Carrow was nowhere to be seen, which Scorpius counted as the world’s smallest blessing amidst the chaos. Zabini didn’t seem to notice the eyes on them, and was staring intently at Rose across the Hall. 

The Howler continued. “Prof—Headmistress McGonagall tells me it was a broom closet! Outrageous, Rose Weasley! Shameful! No daughter of mine—” 

A distant female voice broke into the rant. “Ronald _Bilius,_  just what do you think you’re doing? Has your head run off your shoulders? By Godric, you—!” 

The Howler abruptly shredded itself into Rose’s shepherd's pie. She pushed it away without looking at it. She still didn’t lift her head and her cousin, equally red-haired, rested a slender hand on her back and rubbed down her spine. Rose didn’t appear to be breathing. Her little brother stared at the remnants of the Howler and when he opened his mouth, Rose’s red-headed cousin sent him a deathly look. His jaw closed and he looked down at his plate. 

Zabini set his fork down on the napkin beside his own plate. “I predict that her Easter holiday will go swimmingly.”

Scorpius groaned. He’d forgotten about Easter.


End file.
